To Be Young Again
by Melodious329
Summary: Sam and Dean are on a hunt when Dean accidentally gets transformed into a kid again, giving Sam an insight into his brother. Unfortunately the demon that did it is still out there, How will Sam keep little Dean safe? Wincest
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: No this is not the sequel to my other story I Didn't Mean To...sorry but that one's gonna take a little time. In the meantime, this is another idea that I hope y'all like and will review!_

The inevitable silence had fallen once again inside the Impala. Despite that they both had lots of experience entertaining themselves in the car, even Dean eventually ran out of games and conversation topics and, hell, even ways to annoy his younger brother. And then the silence would fall, leaving Sam alone to his thoughts and concerns.

And today, Sam's thoughts were on his brother. He sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eye to see Dean sitting there with a look of mild concentration on his face, his slender fingers absently tapping a staccato rhythm against the steering wheel. Sam wondered what Dean thought about when the silence fell.

Sam couldn't imagine. Dean was a mystery to him. The younger man couldn't fathom how to reconcile the Dean that mocked him for being a 'girl' with the Dean that comforted him during his nightmares, the shallowness and the sarcasm with his brother's need to protect and take care of everyone, his brother's cocky, self-confident sexiness with Dean's newly exposed self-loathing.

Not that Sam noticed his brother's sexiness, of course not. It was a given that Dean was beautiful. Everyone noticed, everyone had always noticed Dean even when they were kids. His father had said Dean had inherited Mary's looks. Then Sam had been jealous of the attention, now he was torn between being jealous of the people who had Dean's attention and enjoying the view himself.

Because Sam's feelings toward his brother were as conflicted as the man himself. He both loved and loathed his brother, the savior complex, the immaturity, the emotional walls…not to mention Dean's passion that could so quickly turn to anger. Dean represented all the things that Sam had run away from, the supernatural that had cost Sam his life. But how could he hate the man who had tried so hard to give Sam 'normal', to give Sam 'safe', Dean who hunted for all the right reasons, to save people, unlike Sam and his dad.

Sam wiped a hand over his face not even noticing that they were pulling up to a diner.

"We're here. Thought we'd eat first and check into a hotel second." Dean said right before he slipped out of the car.

Once they'd ordered, the silence didn't fall again. It had already been broken.

"So, what are we dealing with here?"

Sam sighed. Did Dean ever actually listen to him or did his brother think he just liked the sound of his own voice.

"Like I said before we left, Dean. Three men are dead in suspicious circumstances…"

Dean interrupted, making Sam want to pull his hair out. First Dean _asked _him what was going on, and now he won't even listen as Sam repeats it for like the twentieth time.

"Men, huh? I swear that saying really is true. Ya know, the one about 'hell hath no fury'…Man gets dumped, he just moves on, but **women**…no, they gotta come back and kill every man they can find."

Sam sighed again. "I don't think it's a spirit, Dean, and we have no idea what the motive is, so could you stop with the misogynistic tirade and let me finish."

"Whoa, what crawled up your butt and died?"

"Nothing. There were three men that disappeared for several days only to be found dead, all in different but secluded areas with various knife wounds on their bodies. According to the paper it looked ritualistic."

"Hmm, demons, even better than vengeful female spirits. Guess tomorrow we'll go check out the bodies ourselves and then see what we can dig up on the victims."

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course that's what they'd do, that's what they always did.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, Dean's seemingly irrepressible good humour eventually rubbing off on the younger hunter like it always did.

The next morning found them at the morgue dressed in their cheap suits in order to impersonate police officers. Sam found himself thinking that in fact, Dean actually would make a pretty good cop. In another life maybe that's what his brother would have become.

The coroner left them alone with the body after telling them that he was unable to identify the weapon used. The man tells them that it looks like some kind of talon.

Dean immediately flipped the sheet off that was covering the body.

"Dean," Sam whined. "Have some respect."

His brother just snorted. "We need to have a look, or did you forget why we're here. Hey, what does that look like to you?"

Sam huffed and stared down at the man's upper thigh. At first they just look like scratches, but then the lines start to look less random…

"A symbol."

"Unh-huh, looks like it's time to hit the library, little brother."

Several hours of fruitless research later, during which Sam was mostly occupied in keeping Dean occupied to the detriment of his own work.

"Ah-hah!" Dean cried out suddenly, and the first thought in Sam's head was 'oh no not again'. Could his brother not pay attention for five seconds?

"Sam come on, I really found it."

With a sluggishness born of aggravation, Sam got out of his own seat to peer over Dean's shoulder. Of course the first thing he noticed from that vantage was not, in fact, the musty old tome that his brother was reading out of, no. The first thing that Sam noticed was Dean's smell. Dean smelled of musk and sweat and burnt carbon.

The second thing he noticed was the soft-appearing skin of Dean's neck. It wasn't until Dean shivered as if he knew what Sam was looking at, that the younger Winchester actually looked at the page.

"A Farafew, Dean? Dude, those eat children and there have been no missing children." Sam spoke slowly as if his brother was an idiot. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean really was as stupid as he made out or whether it was all part of some cover to be overlooked.

"Well maybe those guys were turned into children first?"

"Of course they were, Dean, cause that makes sense, instead of just taking children."

Dean just shrugged his shoulders like it didn't matter that Sam had shot down another of his ideas. "Everything else fits. What'd you find, college boy? Anything similar about the victims?"

"No, nothing. It's a small town, they all went to the same school, but were on different sports teams, had different jobs, different social circles…wait a second…"

Moving more quickly now, Sam moved the other papers off the tables and lay down just the map. He plotted the three points of where the bodies had been found and then stood back considering.

"What does that look like to you?"

"The same symbol as on the body, the same symbol as that "

"Drop the Farafew, Dean. But I think I know where the next murder is going to occur and if the pattern of days keeps it should be tonight."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

That night found them in the back lot of an old abandoned farmhouse. Sure enough, there was a man there, laying on some kind of crude stone altar in the middle of a stone circle. But there was nothing else there, nothing else that they could see at least.

"Keep a watch, Sam."

Dean stepped into the circle, untying the poor sod, who ran for the hills as soon as he was free.

"What, no thank you," Dean quipped, not noticing as an odd blue light began to fill the circle.

"Dean, get out of there!" Sam stopped short of stepping inside the ring because Dean wasn't moving. His brother was simply huddled on his knees surrounded by that bright light which just got brighter and brighter until Sam couldn't see inside it anymore.

Sam should have expected it, he supposed. Dean had probably never heard of Ockham's razor, but the elder man had gotten right to the heart of the problem. Sam shouldn't have been surprised when the light faded to reveal his brother…as a small child swamped in clothes.

_By the way, I totally made up the baddie, no research involved. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Oh and I could be persuaded to write it without the Wincest if people want._

"Dean…?"

The boy's head whipped up and Dean's wide green eyes looked out at Sam from a child's face, a frightened child.

But then Sam noticed movement, a darker shadow against the dark of the woods behind the circle, and it was coming closer.

Sam raised the rock salt-filled shotgun and fired at it, causing the darkness to dissipate. Then he went inside the circle.

"Come on, Dean. We need to go."

Dean even as a child recognized the danger he was in. The sharp eyes scanned the woods and the circle he was kneeling in, before passing a measuring glance over Sam himself.

Knowing that staying wasn't his safest option, the boy did move. Dean stood, stepping out of his jeans, but holding up the black boxers with one tiny hand, despite that the t-shirt reached below his knees.

Sam held out a hand for the boy to hold, which Dean just stared at with disgust. Dropping his hand, Sam hadn't made it two steps before the boy's voice piped up. The voice came from behind him and Sam reminded himself to slow down.

"You're a hunter." It wasn't exactly a question. "Like my dad."

"Yeah, like…your father. My name's Sam, like your brother." Sam had quickly decided not to say anything about them being related until he could ascertain how much the child-Dean remembered.

"What's going on? Where am I? And where's my dad?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Going to sleep, in our hotel room…with Sammy." The last part was said softly.

Thinking on the fly, "Well, something took you, kidnapped you from the hotel room, and your dad sent me because…" Uh-oh, his imagination was running out…

"He had to take care of Sammy, I get it."

"Yeah, he took him to, uh, Pastor Jim's."

"But how'd the monster get in, I _always _make sure to salt the windows and doors."

"Because there's a human accomplice." Sam hadn't realized it until that moment when Dean asked, but it was the only thing that made sense. There was a person out there, who was choosing the victims, possibly luring the men there and then summoning the demon.

Dean just nodded, but then he stopped walking abruptly as the car came into view. "Why do you have the Impala?"

"Oh…well, your father lent it to me to come get you since I don't have a car."

Shrewd eyes turned to look at Sam. "He's coming with Pastor Jim, Dean. He knew I needed to get here quickly to help you."

Satisfied with that explanation, at least for the moment, Dean began to walk toward the car again, but he tripped and fell.

Sam leaned down to help the kid up, realizing then how tiny Dean was in comparison to him now.

"Let me help you." Sam wasn't surprised that the boy had fallen, but he was surprised to see that the boy's feet were cut up.

Shoes, the kid didn't have any shoes and they had been walking through the woods. Why hadn't he noticed? Why hadn't Dean said something?

"De-an, your feet. Why didn't you say something?"

The boy just shrugged again, a move so similar to the twenty-something Dean that it was almost comical to see.

"It's fine." Also a typical Dean response.

With a sigh and a 'come on', Sam got the boy into the passenger side of the Impala, not that Dean let him help of course. Mostly Sam just stood next to his brother, stooped over to be ready in case Dean fell again.

Their first stop a 24 hour Wal-Mart, which Sam thanked God for at that moment. "So…How old are you, Dean?"

That assessing gaze again before the answer came. "Eight."

"Well, I'm gonna go get you some clothes, real quick, can you tell me what size you wear?"

Ten minutes later, Sam was standing in the little boy department having a small panic attack. He didn't know the first thing about kids. Sam had never even babysat before, it wasn't as if he had any younger cousins or neighborhood kids or anything growing up.

He really wished that Dean was here. Of course, that was the whole problem wasn't it. Not only would Dean know how to handle kids, despite his apparent low tolerance for them, but Sam had never been on a hunt alone like this before. He had to take care of a child and get the monster which was probably going to be looking for Dean.

After another ten minutes and some help from a very nice elderly salesclerk, Sam returned to the car with a couple of bags. "Hey why don't you get in the back and go ahead and change."

Dean seemed even more wary but he crawled into the backseat and looked inside the shopping bags. He waited until Sam had gotten into the driver's seat, before changing, making sure to stay hidden behind the seat.

Sam made sure to stay by Dean's side as they walked to their room at the motel, particularly when he spotted a man hanging around outside. He wasn't so naïve that he didn't recognize the look of lust on the man's face, and the man was looking at Dean, Dean with those big eyes and lips that fortunately he grew into.

Dean shrugged off the hand that Sam attempted to place around the boy's neck in an effort to keep the boy close.

"Dean…"

"I see him," was the sharp response.

"You need to stick close."

"I know what he's looking at, and don't worry, I ain't gonna make that mistake again."

Sam stopped. "Dean? Did something happen, did someone…?"

"No!" Dean's answer was a sharp cry, horrified that someone would think that. "Dad came."

Kneeling down so that he could be on Dean's level, Sam asked, "What happened?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly again. "Nothing, I just went to get ice and there was this man in the parking lot. He said he needed help and I…I should have fought him off like Dad taught me, but…He told me what he wanted, what Dad had warned me about. But Dad came and he said…he said the bruises would remind me not to do it again. Can't trust nobody, just like Dad said."

The boy said that last with such certainty that it just broke Sam's heart. He had never heard about that story, had never thought to look for human monsters as a child. But Dean knew apparently. It was just another horror of the world that Dean had experienced at too young an age and then protected Sam from, another thing that Dad probably told Dean never to mention again.

And then it hit him. Sam realized that this might be the perfect opportunity to understand his brother. Already, Dean had spilled more than the adult Dean would ever admit to. It was his chance to understand the forces that had shaped his brother, to see their childhood from Dean's perspective.

The shrtiga case had given Sam an insight into why his brother always followed Dad's orders. It had let him see that Dean had truly grown up in a 'war', as a soldier. If his brother had not followed Dad's orders then people could have gotten hurt. You can't question your superior during a firefight. Hell, if Dean hadn't followed Dad's orders, who would have taken care of Sam? Dean had acted as the adult, allowing Sam to remain a child. This opportunity might fill in the rest of the blanks.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Just a little something to move the story along..._

Satisfied both with his own decision and with Dean's answer, Sam nodded and stood, leading the kid to their room quickly.

Closing the door behind them, Sam watched as Dean looked the room over.

"You're not hungry, are you?" It was the middle of the night, but Sam figured he'd better ask.

Dean just shook his head and dropped his bag. "Which bed is mine?"

"That one," Sam pointed to the bed the adult Dean had stepped in last night. "I got you a toothbrush, if you wanna get ready for bed, or take a shower or whatever…"

Green eyes were glaring at him again. "I'm not a kid. You don't have to baby-sit me."

And with that Dean disappeared into the bathroom with the toothbrush and the pajamas.

Sam sat on his bed, listening as the shower started. He supposed that Dean was right, he wasn't a kid even at eight years old. Hell, Sam himself was talking to the kid like he was an adult. This child-Dean was so quiet and subdued, not like most kids his age, not even like the Dean of Sam's earliest memories. Sam remembered Dean being so upbeat, always moving, always trying to get Sam to smile, to play.

But then Sam never really saw Dean with other people, and obviously their father as well as life itself taught Dean to be mistrustful. No wonder Dean had such terrible social skills.

"Matching pajamas? What's with you?" Dean's voice broke Sam out of his reverie.

"Uhh, I don't know. I just didn't know what else to buy."

"Whatever." Dean flopped down on the bed. "Mind if I turn on the tv?"

"What?" Sam queried. "You're not gonna go to sleep? It's pretty late."

Dean sat up, looking down at the comforter sheepishly. "I'm not sleepy," the boy mumbled. "Sammy's not here."

Sam smiled. "Sammy's safe, Dad's got him remember?"

"I know, but I've never…I've never spent a night away from him."

Sam couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the vulnerability in that statement. Dean must have noticed since he quickly continued.

"What if Sammy gets scared? I'm always there for him, Dad doesn't know what to do…"

Interesting. It seemed that Dean was not only worried about Sammy sleeping alone, but also didn't want to sleep alone himself. Maybe being strong for his younger brother was what kept Dean's own demons buried. He couldn't show fear or grief around Sammy because Dean didn't want his younger brother to worry. It was a sobering thought because that would make Sam just as responsible for the way Dean turned out as John, even if Sam hadn't done it consciously.

"Tell me about your brother, Dean."

That got the first smile out of the boy, Dean's lips, full even at that age, curving upwards. "Ahh Sammy's ok, for a little kid."

"What do you normally do together?"

"At night I normally read to him, he always likes that. Sammy's gonna start kindergarten next year. He's really smart, even daddy says so. I taught him to read a little. I'm not that smart, but I, uh, tried."

"I'm sure you're very smart, Dean."

That 'who do you think you're kidding' look was back on Dean's face. "I'm not stupid. I know what Missouri means when she says I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed."

Sam was surprised that his brother remembered the exact phrase the psychic had used. Apparently those barbs hit a little deeper than he had realized. Sam had to wonder whether the adult Dean shrugged off those comments as easily as it seemed, particularly since Missouri had said that exact phrase to Dean the last time that they had seen her.

"Well, what are you good at?"

Dean shrugged as if bored. "I like to build things, take things apart, but Dad says that's not _real _intelligence. Everybody just tells me to stop it."

Sam winced. He could well remember his own reaction the first time that he had seen Dean's 'home made' EMF reader…and the look in Dean's eyes when Sam ridiculed his brother. Obviously, Missouri wasn't the only one who simply assumed that Dean really was as insensitive to those put-downs as he seemed. After all, psychics only read thoughts, not feelings.

Dean continued speaking, seeming as if he were enjoying talking to someone. Or maybe it was that he was enjoying having someone to listen. Sam knew that Dean couldn't talk to their father and Sam himself was only four years old. And even when Sam grew up, Dean certainly never shared his concerns or fears with his little brother and Dean never let on that his feelings might have been hurt.

"It's funny that you have the same name as my brother. You even look a little alike. Sammy looks just like Dad, ya know. Not like me, I look like…"

Dean trailed off, the light going out of his eyes just before they dropped to stare at his lap again.

"Who, Dean?" Sam inquired softly.

To his amazement, Dean's eyes were filled with tears when they met Sam's again. But even at that young age, Dean didn't let them fall.

"Like _her_, like mom. Sometimes…sometimes when Dad's been drinking, he says…he says that he can't stand to look at me right then."

Sam was speechless. He certainly hadn't known about that, and he wondered whether even Dad remembered it. But he knew that Dean, the adult Dean did.

And unfortunately, he knew that the story was all too likely. He could imagine their father, the memory of Mary fresh in his mind, with a little too much to drink and no one to lean on, no one but his boys to turn to.

Dean's lips were trembling as Sam watched the eight year old attempt to hold back the tears. The green eyes were filled with a desolate misery and Sam had just tightened his thigh muscles in preparation to stand up, to go to his brother, this small child, to comfort Dean, when the boy turned away.

"I think I'm gonna go to sleep now." The boy's voice was choked as Dean lay down on the bed on his side, facing away from Sam and pulling the covers up practically over his head, leaving Sam to stare at the back of the tiny form balled up under the ugly floral comforter. And Sam still wanted to go to his brother, still wanted to hold the boy and find some way to console him.

But he didn't know how to take away that pain and it was obvious that Dean didn't expect comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews!! Keep 'em coming. I love that other people thought that Missouri was too harsh with Dean. As I was watching that episode I kept thinking that that is how kids turn out like Dean. Anyway, hope y'all like this new chapter. _

When Sam awoke, the first thing he did was look over at his brother's bed, hoping against hope that he would look over to find a fully grown man sprawling everywhere as usual.

What he saw however, was only a tiny lump and a bit of dark blonde hair peeking out from a pile of blankets. Sighing, he got up quietly. His brother never had been one for early mornings. In fact his brother had only ever gotten up in the mornings because Sam wouldn't leave him alone, jumping on Dean and pushing and prodding until his brother got up and got him breakfast.

Despite their current predicament, Sam had the impulse to wake the child-Dean up the same way this morning. He smiled and managed to stifle the urge.

Quietly, Sam made his way to the bathroom with fresh clothes in his hands. The hot water went a long way toward clearing his head, but a clear head only enabled Sam to worry more.

He missed his brother…his adult brother. He missed the feeling of protection, of safety that he always felt from his brother. No, he was never _safe_, their life wasn't safe, but Sam always had someone to turn to, he knew that Dean would do anything for him. Dean always looked out for him, always believed in him. Was this what Dean felt like? Having the weight of a child's life, hell, a child's happiness on his shoulders?

Sam missed the sight of his brother. How many times had Sam jacked off to the mental image of his brother in a shower just like this one? Not that he felt like doing that with his now eight year old brother in the next room, but even if Sam was conflicted about what else he felt for Dean, he definitely felt lust.

He wondered how the adult-Dean felt about the way he looked. Did Dean ever think about their mother, about Dad's words when he looked in the mirror or when a girl hit on him? Dean always seemed confident, proud of his looks, but then again, Dean also used them like a barrier. Like a shell, one could only get so close to the real Dean.

The Farafew…God, when he got Dean back Sam was going to have a lot of apologizing to do, but, in the meantime, the Farafew was likely to be going after Dean since he had already been turned into a child. And, if there was a human accomplice then Sam couldn't leave Dean in the motel room.

Sam would have to bring the kid with him when he went to interrogate the victims' families, which meant that he couldn't use any of their numerous badges to get into the house. Because what cop would bring a kid with him on a job? And before all of that, he had to get the kid some breakfast.

The thought of Dean as a little kid who needed care and protection still boggled Sam's mind. He had never thought of his brother like that, not even when they were kids. Dean had always been strong, the protector, the caretaker, the one in charge, the one that Sam could always count on.

Now Sam was having all kinds of new thoughts on the matter. Who had been there to take care of Dean? Who had soothed Dean's fears, Dean who had the weight of the preservation of their whole family on his shoulders. Now was the first time Sam had recognized how tiny those shoulders really were. Now he was seeing his brother with an adult's eyes instead of the eyes of a child who needed Dean, who needed his older brother to be strong.

Dressed, Sam exited the bathroom and walked between the beds to lay a hand on Dean's back.

"Come on, wake up, Dean."

The boy jerked underneath his hand and rolled to the side. Sam had been afraid that the child-Dean would react with fear at being awoken by an unfamiliar man. It was just another reminder that Dean had grown up in a constant state of fear, of readiness. There was a significant difference between Dean's childhood and Sam's own. Sam had had an atypical childhood, whereas Dean had experienced a traumatic event as a child.

As a four year old, Dean had had the veil of innocence ripped away. The world had never again been a safe place, instead of cause and effect, crime and punishment, for Dean there was only punishment and chaos.

Sam took a step back, allowing Dean some room to get his bearings and remember where he was. He knew when the child did, Dean's face transformed into a comically overdone scowl just as the adult version did in the morning.

"Get dressed and we can go get breakfast."

The boy managed to disentangle himself from the bedcovers and stumbled to the bathroom with one of the Wal-Mart bags.

When the boy re-emerged, he looked more awake but still subdued, like Dean was sulking.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," the boy mumbled. "When's my dad coming?"

Sam sighed, hating to have to lie to his brother even if Dean was currently out of it. "He'll be here soon. But in the meantime, we still have to take care of that thing that kidnapped you. You're gonna have to come with me while I interview people today, ok?"

At that news, the boy perked up.

"Really? I can come with you?"

Oh, thank God that Dad never took Dean on a hunt when he was this young. He knew that Dean had started young, younger than himself, Sam just didn't know how young. Dean had just always seemed to know everything already. But now Sam had to ask.

"So your father never took you on a hunt before?"

"Sometimes, but he never lets me do much. Makes me stand back with a gun or the bow." Dean scowled again, though Sam was fairly sure that his own expression was horrified. "He says I need to be prepared, that I need to see them so that I won't be scared, so that I can protect Sammy when Dad's away. Just cuz I got hurt that one time…"

"What?! What time?"

"I was really little then, I can do better now…"

As if the child wasn't little now. What was his father thinking? How could John have possibly justified bringing an eight year old child on a hunt?

"What happened, Dean? When?"

Sam loved how the child's face looked so sheepish and uncertain. This Dean was so much less skilled at redirecting attention away from the issue.

"Uhh, I guess I was five…"

"And what were you doing on the hunt?!"

Sam realized suddenly how loud and harsh his voice had gotten when he saw Dean stiffen and look at the floor. The child stammered and he hurried to explain himself.

"I wasn't supposed to leave the car, but Sammy was asleep and I heard Dad shouting like he was in pain. I got out and there was this freaky lady, a_ ghost_…She threw me against a tree and I broke my arm. Dad still got it, I didn't mess up the hunt, but Dad was so mad…"

Sam couldn't imagine how scared his father had been in that moment. A five year old child, John's first born, flying through the air towards a tree, probably screaming and crying in pain. Sam knew well how his father's fear and concern could manifest in anger and shouting. And Dean, even at such a young age, wanting to save his father, like always.

Sam had seen his brother hurt many times over the years, too many times. He had seen Dean dragged back to the car or the hotel or wherever they were staying, Dean bleeding or broken, unconscious or cursing and spitting in pain. Sam had been there after both the Rawhide and the Yellow-Eyed Demon had put Dean in the hospital, watched the doctors telling Sam that his brother was going to die.

But in all those times, Sam had never thought about how young Dean was. Dean's body was a patchwork of scars that told the story of his whole life, some of them so old they were just barely visible, evidence of a brutality children shouldn't know even existed.

"When my arm got better, Dad taught me to shoot. I'm really good, got every can on the first try. Dad was…proud, I think."

"That would have made you six, Dean?"

Sam sighed long and slow, trying to get his frustration back under control. It wasn't aimed at Dean anyhow. The boy was still standing stock still, staring at the floor.

Awkwardly patting Dean's back, Sam spoke in a much calmer voice, "Never mind, I'm sure you're a very good shot. Come on, let's go."

It figures that Dean would have been a sharpshooter at six years old, like he had been born to it. Or like an act of will, anything to please their father.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope everyone is enjoying the story..._

They entered the supermarket with Dean leading the way.

"Ok, Dean, what…Dean?"

Sam called after the boy who was quickly bounding away.

"It's ok, I'll get it. I always do the shopping cuz Dad doesn't know how to work a toaster. _I_ figured out how to cook when I was like six." Dean chuckled at his father's ineptitude.

God, Sam thought. No wonder Dean didn't know what healthy food was, their childhood filled with sandwiches and spaghetti-ohs and take-out. John had let an eight year old do the shopping. No, John had given an eight year old the _responsibility _of the shopping. Was there ever an age at which John had taught Dean how to shop, how to cook?

Because Dean didn't say that he was taught how to cook, but that he 'figured it out'. He figured out how to make first cereal then spaghetti and eggs and, finally, actual meals like burgers and chicken and casserole. What other things did Dean figure out how to do: change diapers, soothe skinned knees and hurt feelings, hide himself, hide his feelings and pain?

"Well, that's fine, Dean, but I'm gonna come with you."

At that Dean stopped, looking back at Sam in puzzlement.

"But Dad always stays in the front of the store with Sam."

Sam had known that. In his earliest memories, he had gone with Dean, up and down the aisles as Dean filled the basket on his arm with their meager food stuffs. Dad would meet them at the front to hand over the money, not even looking through their purchases, simply trusting Dean.

It had always been Dean that had kept them fed as kids, had kept even John fed, and it had been Dean who decided what Sam could or couldn't get when Sam begged for sugary treats or toys. And now that Sam thought about it, Dean had often given in, managed to stretch their money somehow and buy Sam something that had made him smile.

"That thing's still after you, Dean."

Dean's mouth formed a tiny 'O' in realization and he waited for Sam's long strides to catch up.

"Why don't we get some muffins?" Sam suggested.

"Ok. Do they have blueberry? That's Sammy's favorite."

Sam smiled a little sadly. He certainly knew how his brother always gave into him, letting Sam have what he wanted while Dean made do with whatever was left. Dean hadn't always been happy about it, but for a child that never seemed to get anything that he wanted in life, Dean had been remarkably willing and cheerful most of the time.

"How about we get whichever kind _you_ want, Dean, since Sammy's not here?"

Dean seemed to think about it, his eyebrows furrowed in another familiar gesture that Sam had seen a lot of lately on the adult-Dean's face. There had been a lot to worry over lately.

"Nah, better get the blueberry so I can save some for him."

Sam closed his eyes, hoping to have better control over his emotions before he opened them again. This was just another conundrum that made up his brother. Sam both wanted to love the boy for his selflessness and shake Dean for feeling that his wants and needs were simply less important.

"Ok," Sam couldn't hide the way his voice choked when he spoke again. "Whatever you think."

Sam took a moment while putting two muffins into the provided white paper bag. He had to ask, this was a question that Sam had always wondered about and now was as good a time as any.

"Dean, do you feel like Sammy gets everything…that he gets more attention?"

Dean turned that look on Sam again, that 'what the fuck' expression. "No." Dean shrugged, the motion belying his answer. "Sammy just needs more, ya know. He's just a kid." A grin spread across the child's features as he continued, "And he's so loud, always talking and questioning, he just demands attention. And he makes this face, I call it his 'puppy-dog face'. Adults just melt, give him whatever he wants…even I give in."

Dean shook his head, still smiling and turned away, effectively ending the conversation. Sam was stunned, a feeling he was becoming more and more familiar with every time that this child-Dean opened his mouth. Dean even as a child was apparently the master of denial, as if he truly believed that if he just ignored it, the pain would go away, as if his own needs would magically disappear.

But Sam had to wonder if Dean wasn't the only one who thought that way. 'The squeaky wheel gets the grease' and all that, and John may have thought that Sam needed more because he was younger. Not just John, but Pastor Jim and Missouri…but not Bobby. For some reason Bobby always seemed to look out for Dean, worrying at the amount of pressure John put on the boy.

"Can I have some milk?" Dean asked, oblivious to Sam's musings.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

They were sitting in the Impala parked outside the home of the family of the Farafew's latest victim. They had eaten in the car, while Sam explained their cover to the young boy. Dean true to his word had only eaten half the muffin and wrapped the rest up in the paper bag.

Sam was drinking the last of his coffee as he reviewed their situation. It must've been a spell that had turned Dean into a child, since Sam's research had not indicated that the Farafew had that ability. And if it was a spell, it probably wasn't going to wear off, not until it had served its purpose which meant until the Farafew killed Dean, causing his brother to turn back into an adult corpse. The only other option would be if Sam got rid of either the Farafew or the human who called it.

"Come on, Dean."

Together they crossed the street and approached the house. It was a normal house, white, one story with a porch.

"Hold my hand, Dean." Sam didn't need to look down to see the look on the boy's face. "You're supposed to be a normal, helpless little kid. Play along."

With a huge sigh, Dean lifted a tiny hand to Sam. Then the door opened.

"Can I help you?" It was a woman who had answered the door. The victim's wife, Michelle, Sam assumed. She was very pretty, blonde and tan, like a trophy wife.

"Yes, I heard about your husband and I'm very sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. You see, my brother, Dean's father disappeared just like your husband, Gary, but the police won't investigate until he's been missing for 48 hours…I just want as much information to go to them with as possible."

Sam knew he wasn't as good a liar as Dean, but the best lies were made mostly of the truth. And seeing the woman's eyes drift down to the boy beside him, Sam figured that this time he had an ace up his sleeve.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman practically cooed as she bent down, placing her fingers underneath Dean's chin to tilt his face upwards. "Well isn't he adorable? Come on in."

With those words, the woman reached her hand out to Dean. The boy shot a glare back at Sam before reluctantly switching his hand to hers and letting her lead them inside.

Michelle sat down on the couch in an immaculate living room, pulling Dean to sit next to her. Sam took a seat in the nearby chair.

"What is it you'd like to know?"

Sam asked her everything he could think of. What Gary did in the week before his death, whether he had acted strangely, seen strange things, met anyone strange…anything. But there had been nothing unusual.

Sam had taken to watching Dean and how he responded to Michelle instead. The boy both seemed scornful of the woman and needy for her attention. Dean didn't like being treated like a child, frowning at the woman's baby-ish noises, but smiling that fake smile up at her and leaning into her touch when she ruffled his dark blonde hair and stroked a finger down his cheekbone.

His brother had always been disdainful of people who didn't know the 'truth' about what was out there. Hell, Dean had even been slightly derisive talking about the women who slept with him, seeing only his beautiful 'packaging' when they would probably run in fear if they saw what was underneath it.

At the same time though, Sam had often thought that Dean was looking for something in those encounters, some attention or affection that Dean's life lacked. Perhaps Dean even liked the anonymity of one night stands, not wanting intimacy or believing his real self unworthy of affection.

The adult-Dean had a wariness of physical affection, interpreting all touches as either painful or sexual. It was a harsh critique of John's parenting skills that his eldest son had grown up without knowing physical comfort. Sam had no such problems, because Sam had Dean.

His brother was right when he had said that Sam had one thing that Max Miller didn't have, though when Dean had spoken those words, Sam had been dismissive of his brother as usual. Dean really did stand between him and the darkness both within and without. Sam understood physical affection because Dean had touched Sam as Dean remembered their mother doing, brushing his hair off his forehead, rubbing his back, kissing his forehead. At least until Sam had declared that he was too old for that stuff, and even then Dean had continued it when Sam was really sick or hurt or upset.

Like when Dean had hugged their father the night of the Daeva attack and it had been almost clinging, relief and need pouring out in that simple contact. The relief at having his family safe and present, and the need to feel for just one moment that he was safe and loved.

Sam knew that their father loved them, John had sold his soul for Dean's life even as Sam berated him for not caring. The man just wasn't great at showing it, his need to keep his children safe and his fear of losing them had kept John aloof. And so Dean had grown up knowing only too well exactly what lay out there in the dark, exactly how frightening life could be, but Dean had grown up confused about all the things that really mattered. Dean didn't know that he was loved, that he was needed and cared about and **important**.

It was an enlightening encounter just not in the way that Sam had hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, particularly the anonymous ones since I love a review that's specific

_Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, particularly the anonymous ones since I love a review that's specific. Of course since I didn't get to respond to those, I feel the need to now. This story is really just a collaboration of every thought I had while watching the episodes. My first thought about their childhood was that it was inconceivable that they stayed in those crappy hotels without running into monsters of the more human variety. Also, of course Dean changing Sam's diapers was facetious but I tried to just elaborate on the show. Sam said their dad couldn't work a toaster, Dean said his dad taught him to shoot at six or seven, Dean didn't seem horrified at the sight of the Shrtiga like he'd never seen anything supernatural before…and you're never too young to make a sandwich. It's a difficult line to walk, making the story angsty enough to be interesting while not going over into completely unbelievable. And I'm glad the wincest is going over well, I always think it just adds a little entertainment to the story, hehe._

The next house they came to was even nicer. The second victim, James, had been a well-off banker and his house was a yellow two story. The wife, Breanna, was a much plainer brunette, however.

She was also less pleased to see them.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know anything that could help find your brother, are you sure he didn't just skip town?" She said passing a measuring glance over Sam's clothes.

And turning toward Dean, she snapped, "Doesn't he have a mother somewhere?"

The boy looked as if he had been struck, but he quickly recovered, his face becoming hard, much harder than the face of any eight year old should ever look.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand tighter as he saw the boy's lips purse in preparation to retaliate with a nasty comment. He practically had to pull Dean inside the house.

The living room was also not as clean as the previous house, as there were children's toys scattered about. Dean's free hand trailed absently along a Fisher-Price toy house as they entered.

"Don't touch that!"

Both Sam and Dean started at the woman's sharp command. Sam watched in a sort of morbid fascination as the woman worked herself up, muttering as she gestured for them to take a seat on the couch as she sat in one of the chairs.

"The boy has no manners…child like that needs discipline, a firm hand…"

To Sam's surprise, the anger didn't return to Dean's face. The boy simply climbed onto the couch, sitting far away from Sam and ducking his head into his chest. He almost seemed to be withdrawing, trying to hide in the cushions, away from the woman's scrutiny.

At this point, Sam was not surprised. Dean as a child was obviously a lot more sensitive to people's comments than he had ever let on. His adult brother had a tough exterior, but Sam had never imagined that Dean had learned that in response to a difficult childhood filled with comments on Dean's unworthiness. Dean wasn't a born hunter, he had been fashioned into one, like everyone else.

Sam knew as children how often people had looked on them with contempt and suspicion. They lived in the wrong section of town, their clothes were ragged, their father never around…but Dean had borne the brunt of it. Dean had been absent from school more often, was more likely to have bruises from a hunt. People always assumed Dean was a 'bad influence', dragging his cute little kid brother all over town, dragging him out of the library and off the playground. But Dean had to enforce the rules, keep Sammy safe, get them both home before dark.

"Of course, no wonder how the boy turned out, what with his father running off, mother too, I bet…"

Now the anger reappeared. Dean was not about to let an insult to his family go unchallenged.

"Don't talk about my dad like that, lady! He would never…"

Sam interjected as the woman's mouth dropped open at the outburst, gripping Dean's shoulder to pull him back onto the couch.

"Dean, that's enough! I'm so sorry, ma'am, we won't take up any more of your time, just a few questions…"

Sam hurriedly asked the most pertinent questions about her husband. Dean shrugged off his hand and then sat sulking beside him on the couch.

That was the other reason people assumed Dean was a bad influence, because he never let anyone insult his family. Dean had a temper and he had gotten into a few fights at school, though not as many as he could have. Dad had effectively prevented most of it by both reminding Dean of the consequences of drawing too much attention as well as having Dean run dozens of laps at dawn for infractions.

Still Dean had effectively kept the bullies away from Sam as a child. Mostly Dean only had to threaten a few boys when he came to pick Sammy up after school for the message to become clear. Dean had a way about him, a dangerous air that belied the prettiness of his face.

Sam got them out of there as quickly as possible, having again learned no pertinent information.

Dean was completely silent on the way to the last victim's house, scrunching himself up against the passenger side door, obviously still upset. The boy was like that all through the next interview. Silent and subdued, his hand limp in Sam's own, ignoring the short, cute wife of one Daniel Fuller, even pulling away when she tried to run a hand through his hair.

Finally they re-entered the Impala, having finished interviewing all the victims families. Sam didn't want to think about the fact that they had learned nothing about their predicament quite yet.

"Hey, you hungry? Ready to grab some din…"

Sam didn't even finish that word. It was dinner time and he had completely forgotten about lunch. That wouldn't have been a big deal for him, Sam occasionally skipped meals when he was engrossed in work, but a growing kid…

"Dean, you must be starving?! Why didn't you say something about lunch? I totally forgot…"

Dean just shrugged, his eyes darting over towards Sam but still not looking at Sam's face. Sam huffed and scowled, and then caught sight of the white paper bag on the floor by Dean's feet.

"Why didn't you eat the rest of the muffin?! I know you must have been hungry."

Dean just shrugged again.

"Dean!"

"What?" the boy finally spoke, his voice irritated. "I'm saving it for Sammy."

"But I told you Sammy wouldn't get here today. You needed it."

"But Dad _might_ have brought him today." Dean shook his head. "Sammy needs it, he's hungry all the time. And we never get muffins. I couldn't eat the whole thing and not give Sammy any."

Sam felt that conflict again. He was angry at the boy for not taking care of himself, for not eating the muffin or telling Sam that he was hungry, but how could Sam be angry at the boy for saving food for his little brother, for sharing what little he had?

Sam sighed in frustration. He let his eyes rove over the boy's form this time taking in the boy's size. It wasn't that the boy was super skinny, and Dean had always been lean as far as Sam could remember, even as an adult Dean was lean. But the boy was missing that roundness that children have, that extra fat like a cushion for growth. Dean's features were sharply defined, his arms sticks, his hand so fragile when Sam held it in his own gigantic one.

Sam sighed again. He obviously couldn't fault his father when he too had forgotten to feed the boy, when Dean was so comfortable being overlooked.

Driving straight to the diner near their hotel, Sam proceeded to order for the boy, trying to make sure that Dean actually ate some vegetables though he let the boy order pie for dessert.

Once their meals had arrived, Sam went over all the information he had so far gleaned. He couldn't help talking it out loud, being so used to bouncing ideas off his brother.

"So, none of the victims witnessed anything unusual prior to their death as far as their wives know. And none of the men varied from their routine at all. The only thing that they have in common is that a month ago they went to their high school reunion together, but they barely even spoke to one another."

"Well then the human accomplice was obviously someone at that party." Dean's words were garbled as he stuffed food in his mouth, though this one time, Sam didn't fault his brother for it.

"Obviously. But the problem is that everyone spoke to everyone, it was a reunion. And the victims have nothing in common."

"They were all popular."

"What?"

"From what you said, they were all popular in high school. Two were captains of different sports teams and the third was the president of the student government."

Sam stopped eating. Dean was right, someone was taking out the popular kids. It didn't help them a whole lot in finding out who, but it was a connection.

Dean wasn't as stupid as he acted, perhaps if Dean had applied himself in school he would even have been as smart as Sam. Sam could remember when he was small, Dean would help him with his homework or listen as Sam rambled on about what they learned in class that day. But Sam had quickly out-distanced his brother in learning.

Of course, while Sam was studying, Dean was making dinner, helping their father, going on hunts or doing extra training, hustling and making money with odd jobs. While Sam was trying to find a way out, Dean was working to keep them together, to keep them all happy and safe and cared for.

"You're right, but that still doesn't narrow down the suspects much."

"Use me as bait…"

"What?!" Surely Sam had not heard that right.

"Whoever it is, is after me, right? So, if we don't have any other leads…"

Sam didn't want to think about how that actually made sense. "No, Dean, there has to be another way…" God Sam was beyond afraid to ask even as the words left his lips, "Dad didn't use you as bait before, did he?"

"No, but I want to help…I can do it, I promise, just like Dad taught me."

Thank the Lord. But then why would Dean offer himself up? He was a little kid for heaven's sake and Sammy wasn't even involved. "Dean…You don't want to do this just to impress Dad, do you? Because you want to be a hunter when you grow up?"

"Dude, I'm gonna be a firefighter. Dad just hunts til he can get the thing that killed mom. I just gotta keep Sammy safe, but I can't let this thing just keep killing people."

So Dean really did want to be a firefighter when he was a kid. Once upon a time, Sam's brother really did have dreams and aspirations that did not include hunting for the rest of his life, being alone and an outcast, though apparently Dean had always had a saviour complex.

What had changed? If it hadn't been for Sam would Dean have gone to college? If not for Dad would Dean have come with him to Stanford? But Dean seemed to have _chosen _this. When they first found the Yellow-Eyed Demon and Sam had told his brother that he would go back to school when the demon was dead, Dean had wanted to stay, to stick with hunting, saying that there would always be something to hunt, someone to save. What had changed?

And what had changed for Sam that he didn't know what he wanted to do anymore?


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Thanks to those who have continued to review. This is a really long chapter so hopefully y'all like. I'm glad that y'all are enjoying the analysis because there's a lot of it in this story. Enjoy!!_

Sam watched the bathroom window of their motel room from a stolen car in the parking lot, thinking as he waited, unable to believe that he was actually using his brother for bait. Dean was an eight year old and Sam was still following his orders.

He took another sip of coffee from the thermos and asked himself again, what had changed? What had changed that he no longer felt sure that he wanted to run back to Stanford as soon as the demon was dead? At first it was just a desire to be close to his father, closer perhaps in death than Sam had been in life, but now…?

Now Sam didn't know that he could walk away from his older brother. He couldn't imagine going back to Stanford, interacting with those people, people who had no idea about him or his life. Sam couldn't imagine not having Dean to talk to, not being able to see his older brother first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Having Dean as an eight year old was hard enough.

When Sam had first started having those feelings toward Dean, he told himself that it was just because of Dean's looks, that it was just a twist of fate that his brother was so friggin' beautiful but he knew that it wasn't true. When Sam had left he certainly hadn't been thinking about anyone else but himself, but while he was away he found himself wishing Dean were there, wanting to share experiences with Dean.

Sam had expected to miss Dean. Dean had always been there for him, but it was more than that. It was like something was missing. The need faded somewhat, eventually. Sam loved Jess and he clung to her but Sam thought of Dean at the oddest times. He'd wonder where his brother was and he worried about Dean. And then Dean had come back and Sam had known that he was going to give in the moment he saw Dean's face in the light. He had been overcome with an odd sense of longing, a kind of homesickness.

Now that they were back hunting, things were the same and yet they were very different. The hunting was the same, the same graveyards, the smell of rotting flesh, the fear while waiting in the dark, the same sorrow for the victims. And Dean was the same, still sarcastic and immature and over-protective.

But things were different and it wasn't just that their father wasn't with them. It had always been about Sam and Dean, at least for Sam. But Sam was different. He was an adult and he wanted his father and brother to treat him like one, like a partner. He wanted his father to include him in decisions, he wanted Dean to stop throwing himself in front of the bullet for Sam. Like that would ever happen.

But if he wanted to be treated as an adult, maybe it was time that Sam started acting like one, stopped judging his father and brother for every little fault, for everything about their childhood and their life, and realize that they really did do the best they could.

He was always going to be different, even without the psychic stuff, he would always know what was out there in the dark. Even at Stanford, his oasis of normal, he never quite fit in. This was his life and he had better find the bright side or he would forever be in the dark. Dean had always known that, known that it didn't take much to be happy. Dean just needed his family. And if Sam was honest with himself, Dean made Sam happy. Dean always made things better, he always had. That was what was missing at Stanford.

Sam noticed movement, only a shadow moving in the dark but he knew that it was Dean after a glance at the clock showed that it was midnight. He watched the boy climb out the bathroom window with admirable agility, landing silently on his feet and scanning the motel parking lot before taking off again.

It was a struggle for Sam to stay in the car as Dean ran across the parking lot toward the road. They had used bait before, certainly, and Dean had often volunteered. The brothers had even used a child as bait once, to lure the Shrtiga, but then they had carefully controlled the environment.

Sam hoped that a car would swoop by and snatch the boy so that he could follow in his own car. That would mean he only had the human to contend with. But it didn't happen and Dean continued across the silent road and the abandoned lot on the other side.

Hopping out of the car, Sam began to follow. This was what he didn't want to happen, to chase Dean through the woods beyond the empty lot with a monster chasing the boy as well. Why did he agree to this again? Just because they didn't have any other leads…

Sam was trying to be quiet as he jogged along, when suddenly the boy stopped. Ducking behind the nearest tree, Sam watched as Dean slowly turned to his left, a fierce expression on his young features, but not fear. He wasn't surprised that Dean had noticed the monster before him. Dean had a sort of sixth sense about the supernatural that most of the time was better than Sam's psychic premonitions.

Tearing his eyes away from the boy, Sam got his first look at the monster. It was as tall as Sam and vaguely human in shape, but its musculature was like ropes wrapped around a human skeleton. Its face was bird-like and its hair actually appeared to be feathers.

Sam began sneaking up behind the monster while Dean occupied its attention. Now was the time for real stealth, he had to get close enough to slit the Farafew's throat with the silver knife he carried.

He noticed an odd look cross the boy's face, shock and there it was…fear. He saw the boy's mouth open but didn't hear the shout as something hard hit Sam in the back of his head. He had forgotten about the human accomplice.

Falling to the ground face first, Sam was for a moment blinded by scalding hot pain. Trying to breathe through it, he looked up just in time to see Dean sprint away like a jack rabbit, the monster hot on the boy's trail.

Sam struggled to his feet, his own fear overriding the pain and the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He spared a moment to look around, but didn't see the person who had hit him.

Now he wasn't trying to be quiet at all, simply running full out while trying to avoid the trees and low hanging branches and stumps and holes. He couldn't see Dean or the monster but he could hear them, crashing through the woods ahead of him.

And then he heard a scream, the gut-wrenching scream of a child in horrible pain. He practically stumbled onto the scene.

Dean was lying prone on the forest floor, trying to scramble away from the talon that the monster had stuck into the back of the boy's thigh. The boy was pinioned, trapped like a butterfly on a specimen wall. But then he suddenly twisted, in his hand the knife that Sam had given the boy as insurance. Dean stabbed the knife through the monster's hand.

The monster whirled away in a rage…and then it caught sight of Sam. It took off then, retreating into the woods. Sam wanted to give chase, but his first responsibility was the boy lying bleeding in the underbrush. Still, as he watched the monster sprint away, he saw another form out there, a human form that was turning away to leave as well. But Sam had already seen the person's face and he recognized her though he didn't think the person realized she had been spotted.

His attention was jerked back when he heard a choked whimper come from the ground. Dean had curled himself into a fetal ball, his tiny hands gripping the wound at the back of his leg, covered in dark blood. White straight teeth were biting hard into the boy's bottom lip as Dean made a valiant effort to manage his pain.

Dropping to his knees, Sam couldn't help his hands that went out to comfort the boy or the idiotic question that left his lips.

"Dean, are you ok?"

Looking down at a small child, Sam was surprised by the Dean-like response of tiny hands shoving his own massive ones away. Stunned, he watched the boy use his hands to push himself to his feet, like a push-up.

"I'm fine, just need a little patching up."

But when the boy's knees buckled on his first step, Sam didn't hesitate in sweeping Dean up into his arms, heedless of whatever protest might follow. Dean was in too much pain to put up much of a fight though and the boy was quiet in Sam's arms, clutching Sam's shirt in his small fists.

Sam carried the boy all the way back to the motel. Dean was so quiet in his arms that Sam almost thought the boy was asleep except for the harsh gasp of breath when Sam readjusted his grip as he opened the motel room door.

"Shh, Dean. You'll be ok."

The fact that Dean didn't have a snappy comeback worried Sam. He laid the boy down on the nearest bed, Dean's as a matter of fact, and then hurried into the bathroom to get the med kit.

"Dean, I need you to get out of your pants so I can see the wound, ok?"

Sam's heart broke just a little bit more at the sight of Dean's small face, already pale and drawn with pain but becoming distinctly apprehensive at the idea of Sam undressing him. Dean used shaking hands slippery with his own blood to unbutton his jeans. Sam didn't help at first, not wanting to further scare the boy but his assistance quickly became necessary.

Tense and shaking with fear and pain, Dean said nothing as Sam helped pull the boy's jeans off. The boy simply bit his lip again and stared at the comforter with wide, frightened eyes.

Maneuvering the boy to lie on his stomach, Sam took a look at the wound. It didn't look good. It was deep and ragged from the boy's struggles and still bleeding. Sam put pressure on it with a towel as he reviewed his options.

He didn't want to put the boy through any further pain, God knew he wanted to save this little boy from all the pain that he knew Dean had endured but he had no choice. Dean needed stitches.

Dean liked to use alcohol as an anesthetic, but Sam couldn't give any to the boy. Not only would it be bad for a child, but alcohol was a blood thinner and Dean had already lost too much blood.

Standing, Sam quickly got a glass of water from the bathroom and gave the boy half a pain pill from a bottle that Dean had picked up somewhere and put in the kit. He let the boy kneel up to take the pill and then Sam set up what he would need to put in the stitches.

"Hey, you doing ok, buddy?"

"What do you think?"

That was more like it. Sam let out a breathless laugh, pleased that the boy was feeling at least better enough to be annoying.

"I think you feel like crap right now. I'm gonna have to give you some stitches, ok?"

"What would you do if I said no?"

Sam laughed again. "Sorry, tough guy, but this is pretty non-negotiable."

"Figured."

"You're gonna feel a pinch."

Kneeling on the grungy motel room carpet, Sam was practically sweating as he prepared to put the needle through his brother's already red, irritated skin. Dean couldn't hold in the mewl of pain, although the boy quickly grabbed for the pillow, stuffing it into his mouth to stifle any other cries.

Sam finished quickly, the actual puncture was small so it had only taken three stitches. When he was done, he put away the kit and washed his hands, bringing back a wet towel to clean the boy's hands and leg with.

Dean was quiet and this time it wasn't because of the pain or being apprehensive. It looked like his brother wanted to say something. Finally Dean spoke again, having rolled to his side as he let Sam clean his hands.

"When's my dad gonna get here?"

God, Sam really didn't want to answer that question right now. "Soon, Dean. He'll be here soon."

Something must have shown on Sam's face though because that look came over the boy's features. That_ look_ that Sam had seen on Dean's face before. He had seen it the night that their father had been kidnapped by the Yellow-eyed Demon, the night that Dean had pulled Sam back from the flames that had overtaken that family's house.

It was the same look that Dean had been wearing when Sam slammed his brother into the wall and Dean had confessed…confessed that he was barely holding it together. That blank look on his features that spoke so much more eloquently of pain than any words. And green eyes filled with agony and desperation, despair so deep that Sam thought he could fall into it.

_That_ look was on the child's face now, pressed as it was into the mattress. Dean never could keep the emotion out of his eyes.

"He's not coming, is he?"

"Of course he is. Dad would never just leave you."

"Then why isn't he here yet?! Why hasn't he called?"

"Come on now. Dad needs you, he couldn't get by without you. Who would take care of Sammy?"

It was the wrong thing to say apparently as Dean started to cry then, curling up into a fetal ball again and shaking with sobs.

"That's all I'm good for. It's just 'do this' and 'do that', 'clean the weapons', 'make Sammy a sandwich', 'watch your brother', 'stay in the room'. I just want…"

Sam didn't need the boy to finish that sentence. He knew what his brother wanted, love. Dean was terrified of abandonment so this was like his worst nightmare.

He picked the boy up, cradling the tiny balled up form against his chest again and sitting against the headboard of the clean bed. Dean didn't protest, didn't even murmur in pain. The boy was too caught up in sobbing to notice that he was in the middle of a 'chick flick' moment.

But after only a moment, Sam could tell Dean was trying to get it under control. The boy was choking on the sobs and rubbing viciously at his tears with his fists.

"It's ok to cry."

"No, it's not." Dean's voice was gruff and certain.

"Why not?"

"It's for chicks. I used to cry for mommy, but Dad shouted…" Tears began streaming down Dean's face again and the boy choked on his words.

"Dad said to stop crying because mommy wasn't coming back."

Sam tucked the boy's face into his chest as the sobs came again. Sam's own eyes filled with tears as he tried to imagine that time after mom's death, that John had to deal with a four year old crying for his mommy, John's dead wife. Of course, John hadn't wanted to think about it, much less talk about it except to plan his revenge. He was filled with his own pain and utterly unable to assuage that of his son. Instead of letting the boy cry it out in his arms, John had told Dean to suck it up unable to listen to the child's pitiable plea.

Sam didn't know what to do, what to say. Things just kept getting worse and worse, he almost wished that he didn't know these things about his brother's life, didn't know the pain that had made Dean the way he was.

Dean could have died. Again. How many times was Dean going to be on death's doorstep before Sam admitted that his feelings for his brother went beyond lust or like or admiration…Sam was in love with Dean. He could no longer picture his perfect 'normal' future or any future for that matter without Dean in it.

And isn't that what love was? When you stopped wondering if there could be a future for the two of you and started wondering how you could possibly spend the rest of your life apart.

Admitting it was like letting the sun into a room. Sam couldn't understand now how he could have missed it. It had been right in front of his face, Dean had been literally right next to him. Sam had been so obsessed with new and different, with normal, that he couldn't see Dean, the real person not the enemy who was standing in his way. It had taken leaving to realize that he already had everything he needed.

Nobody had ever put this boy's needs first it seemed, especially not Sam. He remembered how Dean had begged him to take time off, to take a break to think after Sam survived the demon virus. Dean who didn't beg for anything from anyone had begged Sam, for time and Sam had just disregarded the older man, run away, again. Dean had finally displayed his own concerns and feelings and Sam had shot him down, kept pushing when he knew that Dean was ready to shatter.

The boy's breath had become more even. Dean had finished crying, so Sam scooted down the bed, so that they could lie beneath the sheets. He toed off his shoes and kept the boy in the circle of his arms, not willing to let the boy go. Sam needed this comfort perhaps as much as Dean did.

Sam took a deep breath of the boy's smell. He still smelled like the adult-Dean just fainter, cleaner.

"I miss Sammy." Dean's voice was a whisper of breath, warm and humid against Sam's t-shirt clad chest.

Sam stroked the boy's back, his hand practically as wide as Dean was. "What does Sammy do for you when you're hurt?"

"Nothing, he's just there, ya know?"

Sam did know, Dean drew strength from his family's presence even if he couldn't accept the comfort that he craved.

Suddenly filled with determination, Sam had to stop himself from squeezing the boy in his arms. He would fix this, turn Dean back into an adult, convince the older hunter that a romantic relationship was a good idea, more than that, the only idea that made sense. One day he wanted to hold his adult brother like this. Sam wanted Dean to let him in, he wanted to comfort the older man. Hopefully knowing what he knew now would give him a hole in the armor to work with.


	8. Chapter 8

Unsurprisingly, Sam didn't find it easy to fall asleep that night

Author's Note: So this if the final chapter. Sorry for the long wait, but hopefully the finale doesn't disappoint. Comments are greatly appreciated!! Also I have had a few thoughts about a sequel, so keep an eye out.

Unsurprisingly, Sam didn't find it easy to fall asleep that night. Thoughts kept running through his head, plans and what-ifs and how-tos.

And memories. Sam remembered all the times he and his brother had shared a bed just like this in some crappy no-name, no-tell motel. All the times that they had lain snuggled up together reading or watching tv or talking in the dark despite that their father hadn't been there to hear them. All the times that they had fought and slept with their backs to one another, the times as they both got bigger and they couldn't seem to find a comfortable position without lying on top of one another but their father refused to get them their own room so they could have separate beds.

He remembered the laughing and the wrestling and in all those memories, Sam couldn't remember a single time in which the situation had been reversed like this. He couldn't remember a time in which Dean was the one to accept comfort and Sam the one to offer it, in which Dean was the one to lie in Sam's arms.

Not even when Dean was hurt or sick. Dean still had 'responsibilities' even then. He was the older brother who pretended to be fine and tried to still make Sam's breakfast and rubbed Sam's back as they lay in bed as if it were Sam who needed the comfort.

Sam wanted so much to comfort his brother, to be the one that Dean turned to, leaned on. Sam had wanted to comfort his brother before, before he left for Stanford. But then Sam had still been a child, easily deflected by Dean's sarcasm and jokes and defensiveness. Dean was never as callous as when he was cornered and in pain.

Dean was such an intriguing mix of strength and weakness, courage and vulnerability. That self-deprecating wit that just begged you to put Dean down, the way that Dean would ruin that cocky, knowing smile by casting his eyes down at the last minute in sudden self-consciousness, how he blushed and looked away when being thanked.

Sam would have to push love in Dean's face for his brother to accept it because love was always the last thing that Dean looked for, the last thing that he expected from others, even his own family. And yet Sam would need to be careful not to challenge Dean's pride, not to take away Dean's responsibility, his big brother characteristics.

And Sam would have to prove himself, prove to Dean that he could be leaned on, that he wasn't going to walk away again, that love was worth the risk. And Sam would have to prove it over and over and over again because Dean had been hurt too many times, had too many reasons to be distrustful, perhaps particularly of Sam.

Eventually Sam did sleep but he was woken early by the boy moving restlessly, trying to squirm out from under Sam's large hand.

"Hey," Sam's voice was thick with sleep, his mind sluggish. "Where are you going?"

Dean's voice was small with only a trace of his usual attitude when he answered, "The bathroom, duh."

Sam sat up in an instant, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing a hand over sleep-filled eyes. "Let me help you."

"What? It's the bathroom?" Dean's voice was both confused and indignant as the boy stood by the edge of the bed, staring up into Sam's face.

Sam sighed. Dean injured was always a struggle, why would an injured eight-year old Dean be any different. But the puncture had torn the boy's muscle and Dean really should stay off of it.

Not even bothering to explain himself, Sam swung the boy up into his arms and carried him to the bathroom despite Dean's indignant squawk at being manhandled. He deposited the boy in the bathroom and closed the door on Dean's annoyed tirade.

Sam dressed quickly, silently. He was there when the bathroom door opened again, carrying Dean back to the bed but allowing the boy to dress himself. Neither showered, just brushed their teeth and put on their clothes.

The silence in the room seemed heavy. For his part, Sam didn't know what to say, but he could tell that Dean was still upset, still believed that he had been abandoned.

"We'll go to the diner for breakfast."

This time when Sam moved to pick Dean up, the boy moved away. "What is with you carting me around?"

"You need to stay off your leg, allow the muscle to repair…"

"I can walk fine." Dean's voice was adamant.

"I know you can, but I don't…I don't like to see you in pain. I'm just trying to take care of you."

It was the god's honest truth and Dean didn't seem to know what to do with it. Bright green eyes searched his as if for falsehood and then dropped to the floor, uncomfortable with the attention.

Neither spoke as Sam picked the boy up again to carry Dean out to the Impala. It was an oddly intimate silence, like they had reached an understanding. Dean didn't pull away as Sam settled the boy's tiny weight on his left hip, but rather leaned in, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder.

It felt oddly domestic. Sam carried the boy into the diner, placing Dean down on the booth's seat and sliding in after him. Sam kept Dean in between himself and the window on purpose.

But the waitress that morning was different than the woman who had served them the previous night. Sam hadn't paid the woman a bit of attention. She had been plain, middle-aged like all of the victims. Without Dean, the adult Dean there for the woman to ogle and faux-flirt with, Sam hadn't noticed the woman at all.

Until he had seen her in the woods.

Just a woman, a woman named Stacy who probably felt that life had passed her by. She had been popular once, according to the small amount of research he had done. But a failed marriage to a man who left with all of her savings, had aged the woman, left her run-down and worn out, trying to make ends meet without any marketable skills or education.

It probably happened every day somewhere in America, but this time, this woman must've gotten her hands on some real spell books. She killed because she could, and because she was pissed.

Sam didn't need to pump this new waitress for the other woman's address, he had already gotten it off the internet. And Dean refused to have anything to do with breakfast, first saying he didn't want anything in clipped tones and then not eating what Sam ordered for him.

Sam didn't argue with the boy though. There just didn't seem to be anything that he could do to make things better for the kid. It hurt to see a small child so dejected but it also hurt because there was nothing that Sam would ever be able to do to make Dean's childhood alright, to fix what had been broken in his brother.

But Dean was strong. Fragile in places, frighteningly vulnerable to those few that he loved, Dean just _needed_, the older hunter needed family and love and comfort and support. Dean needed what everyone needed, he just wasn't used to getting it so he needed it more.

They didn't stay at the diner long and then they were back in the Impala, driving to the woman's house. As expected, her house was rundown, a one bedroom, ramshackle affair that didn't look like it had been tended to since Nixon was in office.

Sam hesitated before going in. He didn't want to leave Dean in the car but he certainly didn't want to bring the injured boy inside.

"Stay here. I mean it, I will be right back."

Sam stared at Dean until the boy nodded without looking at Sam.

Despite that it was the middle of the day, it was in such a bad section of town that Sam didn't worry too much about being seen. He knocked as there was no doorbell.

And then _she _answered. Sam felt like a tidal wave of anger washed over him as he got his first up close look at the woman who had caused all of this mess. He somehow blamed her for all of Dean's pain even though it hadn't been her fault at all, her actions had simply brought those incidents to light. Still she had killed three people…

Whipping the gun out from the waist band of his pants, Sam pushed the woman back into the house.

"Don't make a sound or I will shoot you."

The woman seemed terrified as she huddled in her messy living room, staring at him with wide frightened eyes and nodding her head spastically.

"You killed those men didn't you? Didn't you?! You turned them into children and then summoned a demon to torture and kill them!"

He was screaming and she was crying by the end of his rant. And nodding, she was nodding her confession, not that Sam needed any further proof, the spell books were strewn all over, on the couch and the coffee table and the floor. He went over and looked down at the open pages of the book on top of the table. It was open to a picture of the Farafew.

Sam had no idea whether all of the books the woman had were real but he would gather them up all the same. He turned back to Stacy.

He raised the gun towards her and she cried louder, huge hysterical sobs that shook her whole body. Maybe she deserved to die, she had killed people and there was no other way for her to pay for those crimes…

But he couldn't. He couldn't stare at her face and shoot her in cold blood. It felt too much like revenge and not enough like saving people in danger. He would take away the books…

"Can you turn Dean back into an adult?"

She nodded, finally emitting a choked 'yes'.

"How?! Where's the spell?"

She jumped into motion, desperately wiping her eyes to clear them enough to find what she was looking for. After a long painful moment of frantic scurrying around the room, Stacy was shoving a book towards him.

"Alright, I am taking these books. If this doesn't work, or if I **ever** hear of anything happening near you again, any deaths, **anything** strange…I will kill you."

Stacy was still nodding and sobbing, hysterical as Sam left feeling unfulfilled, unresolved.

Dean was confused as Sam returned to the car, dumping the armload of books in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel again.

The boy didn't ask for an explanation, just shot Sam quizzical glances. Sam hated to lie more but he couldn't possibly explain what was really going on. The Farafew was no longer a threat, it had to be summoned, but that threat was something that Dean would understand.

"You're gonna have to be bait one last time, ok? I'll summon the Farafew and kill it and this will all be over. You'll go back to Dad and Sammy, ok?"

Dean didn't respond, just nodded his acquiescence to the plan. Sam had already chosen the spot, secluded even in the daytime because Sam couldn't wait for nightfall.

When he stopped the car at an abandoned field, at the edge of the same woods as the night before, Sam simply opened his arms and the boy scooted over, lifted his own arms to be picked up. It made Sam want to cry suddenly.

Sam grabbed a blanket from the trunk along with a duffel. He sat the boy on a nearby log as he spread out the blanket and then set Dean down in the middle.

Dean looked small and vulnerable as Sam made an even more rudimentary circle around the boy with loose rocks. He looked truly like a sacrificial lamb and Dean seemed completely apathetic to it as if it no longer mattered what happened to him if his family didn't care.

Sam just wanted to get it over with. He couldn't explain, couldn't do anything to make this child feel better, all he could do was get it over with quickly. But he couldn't resist asking one last question of the child-Dean.

He was crouched on the edge of the circle, looking at Dean's face who was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Dean, do you ever wish that things were different? That your dad didn't do this, that you didn't have to do this?"

Dean just looked at him, those huge green eyes still alive, flickering between grief and thoughtfulness and mirth.

"What's the point?" The boy's voice was light even though his eyes had settled on serious. "This is the way things are and I have to make the best of it." Tiny shoulders shrugged as if it weren't a big deal. "Somebody has to do it and I don't have any more right to be happy than anyone else."

Sam stifled a choked noise and looked away. The answer was so like Dean. Dean wasn't going to pass the buck to anyone else and he was going to get whatever enjoyment he could. What fills up your days, fills up your life.

Sam stepped back, the single book in his hands as he began to read the spell, uncertain as to whether the look on Dean's face was of trust or apathy.

Light began to fill the circle, seeming a thicker, brighter, whiter light in the daytime than at night. Before the light obscured his view, Sam could see the child-Dean turning onto his side, curling into the fetal position once again. And then screaming, so loud in the silence, those child screams of agony that Sam never wanted to hear again.

And then the screaming transformed, transformed into the deeper voice of his adult brother and yet it was still high-pitched, still agonized. And then it stopped. Everything, just like that, the screaming stopped and the light was gone.

There was Dean, the adult Dean still on his side but trying to push himself back up to a sitting position and breathing heavily, panting with the exertion of his previous screams. And he was naked, the clothes the boy had been wearing merely strips of cloth that had left red stripes on Dean's skin as they had shredded.

Sam rushed forward, needing to be closer, needing to see, to touch and make sure that Dean was ok, was _there_. He wanted to make sure that his brother was ok because Dean was still out of breath, still trembling and gasping in the aftershocks of some terrible pain.

Dean pushed himself up, collapsing on his butt as Sam slid to his knees in front of the older man, moving in between Dean's raised knees in an effort to be as close as possible. Dean raised his hand to forestall Sam's concern but Sam simply gripped his bicep hard enough to bruise. Sam brought his left hand up to cradle, to grip the back of Dean's neck, angling Dean's face up towards him.

"Sam, I'm fine. It stopped…the pain, it just…stopped."

Sam was close enough that he could clearly see the beads of sweat that had broken out on Dean's forehead, but he could also see that Dean's eyes were clear.

"You're fine? You're not hurt?" Sam didn't know why his own voice was so breathless.

"Yeah I'm fine, Sam, really." Dean pulled back, trying to move away from his brother, probably wanting to assess the situation, get some perspective.

Dean's eyes were wide as Sam pulled him forward fiercely.

"Good," Sam's voice was as fierce as his grip as he pulled Dean into a kiss. He didn't know what he was doing, what had come over him. Sam had only wanted to be near Dean, but being that close, with the adrenaline and the _relief_, and Dean…Dean being right there.

Dean's lips were full and soft…and not moving under his. Sam pulled away only a little, enough that he could see Dean's green eyes, wide and questioning and looking very vulnerable like the child-Dean's eyes had looked.

"Christo," the word blows Dean's moist, hot breath across Sam's wet lips.

Sam hasn't moved, he's still gripping Dean and Dean isn't pulling away. The older hunter has simply stopped moving. Sam's words come out in a rush, wanting to explain himself, wanting to get back to those lips that his gaze keeps drifting too.

"No, Dean, I'm not possessed. I haven't been touched by any spirit, no evil things have been messing with my head. Hell, I didn't even hit my head."

And even as he's talking he's pulling at Dean, pulling the other man towards him while Dean stares with those wide open, vulnerable eyes, not pulling away but not giving in.

"I just want you. I want you, Dean." Sam knew his voice was demanding, adamant and pleading. And like always Dean gave in.

The tension in the older man's body eased, letting Sam pull them together again. This time Dean's lips moved against his own and that only spurred Sam on, increased his urgency. He couldn't get enough, fast enough, close enough.

Dean made a movement, as if to try and get up more, to try and get the upper hand, but Sam used his greater weight to keep his position. Sam wanted it to be clear that he wanted to be an equal partner and to his surprise, Dean relented, relaxing in Sam's grip.

Soon Sam was nipping, sucking at Dean's lower lip, using his hand on the back of Dean's neck to force his brother's head back to expose the other man's throat. Sam slid his other hand up Dean's arm over his shoulder and down the sweat-slicked back, trying to get a grip on Dean to pull them closer. He wanted to feel Dean against him, the fact that Dean was naked while Sam himself was clothed only added to the experience.

It was all about Dean. Sam wanted to feel Dean and taste him and hear him and look at him and drink in his scent. He got his wish when a bite to Dean's neck caused the other man to arch in his arms, Dean pushing his naked chest against Sam's t-shirt clad one. Sam could feel Dean's erect nipples rub against him through the fabric and the sensation of the slight roughness must have felt good judging by the deep-throated groan that rumbled out of Dean's chest.

Sam began to press Dean down onto his back on the blanket as Dean's thighs came up to clench around Sam's hips, struggling for purchase as Dean tried to get some friction on his neglected sex.

Stroking his hands along the length of Dean's thighs encouraged the older man to wrap his legs completely around Sam. Dean's hands were clenched on Sam's arms as he began to thrust his hips up against his brother's khaki-covered crotch.

Dean was gasping and panting and biting his own full lower lip as he thrust and writhed within the circle of Sam's arms. Sam was entranced and he certainly had no thought to move away long enough to remove his own pants.

He simply reached a hand down to unzip, gasping out a moan when his cock first touched the smooth skin of Dean's belly. That was all, just thrusting and kissing and stroking hands. Sam came first, jerking and gasping out words like 'God' and 'Dean' and 'finally', and then watching as Dean shuddered and moaned, his head tossing as he arched hard, exposing every vulnerable place to Sam.

Sam collapsed just to the side, Dean's legs finally unclenching from around Sam to lie straight out. Leaning his forehead against Dean's shoulder, he listened to his older brother's laboured breathing, finding it inexplicably comforting as nothing had been since Dean was transformed into a child.

But he couldn't resist lifting his head to look some more. Dean's eyes were closed but his face was tilted toward Sam's side. He looked exhausted to Sam, but Sam also got the feeling that his brother was thinking, digesting before he opened his eyes again.

Sam was surprised by how small Dean was, how lean when naked…or wearing an orange jumpsuit for that matter. Dean had always been this huge force in Sam's life, Dean had such a huge _presence_ that it was easy to forget that Sam was bigger. Sam's arms could completely enwrap the smaller man.

Finally though, Dean swallowed and opened his eyes to look earnestly up at Sam.

"This isn't the circle I remember."

Straight to business first, but Sam thinks that might be a good thing right then. Get it out of the way.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Saving that guy from a stone circle, at night." Dean's eyes are looking around now, taking in the surroundings and shining like emeralds in the sunlight.

"Dean that was days ago…"

Dean's eyes snapped back to Sam's in a flash, concern suddenly filling their depths. "Well, what happened?"

"You were right."

Dean didn't let him get further than that without comment, his voice full of that odd smug uncertainty that Sam suddenly thinks he might be able to tolerate better when Dean is naked and underneath him.

"Of course I was. Right about what?"

"The Farafew. You were in the circle and it suddenly filled with light and it turned you…it turned you into an eight year old."

"Really?" Dean asked and for a moment, he looks impressed and intrigued before the worry comes back. "Well did you get it?"

Sam smiled. "You did."

"Damn right I did, even as an eight year old I was probably better than you…" Dean trailed off in his self-important rant and coughed, showing that he was uncomfortable with his next words.

"So you, what? Like took care of me?"

Sam sighed and shifted closer to Dean suddenly wondering whether his brother war warm enough. "You didn't need much taking care of, Dean, but, yeah, I tried."

Dean nodded slowly, swallowing Sam's not-very-enlightening answer but not looking into Sam's eyes.

"That still doesn't explain why you jumped me?" Dean's voice was attempting light but Sam knew that the question was a serious one.

"Because you're beautiful." Sam wanted to run his hand along the side of Dean's face but he didn't dare.

"Well, of course, that's nothing new." Dean's voice was a little hoarse and he still wouldn't look at his brother. Sam knew then that though Dean was trying to be humorous, the idea that Sam was only attracted because of his looks bothered Dean.

He tried to correct the mistake immediately, giving in and touching Dean's face. "You're beautiful and caring and heroic and funny…and immature and annoying and over-protective…"

Sam knew he was winning as he saw a smirk lifting the corners of Dean's full mouth, saw that Dean was fighting to keep his eyes averted and not give an eye-roll.

"And I've been in love with you forever."

At that Dean looked at him, the question in his eyes completely expected, but it didn't mask the fear and hope and pain that were also there in those beautiful eyes.

"So what is this?"

"Dean, I want this." Sam shook his hand to encompass their current position, Dean at least naked and both sated, not wanting to have to say the word 'relationship'. "This, all the time and everything that comes with it. Do you? Do you want to be with me, like this?"

Dean bit his lip at the emotions that clouded his eyes but he met Sam's gaze and spoke, though his voice was soft and hoarse. "Yeah, Sammy. I want this."

Sam smiled. He knew that a sexual relationship, a romantic relationship wasn't going to be any easier than their relationship as brothers. Dean was still going to Dean. Sam couldn't expect Dean's walls to crumble over night and they were definitely going to have to talk about Dean's flirtatious nature…but Sam thought, no, he knew that it would be worth it.

Still he had to ask. "Dean, you said some things while you were a kid…"

Dean scowled and tried to turn away, but Sam held him fast. There was a flash of emotion in Dean's eyes, something that Sam thought might be respect or understanding, understanding that Sam wasn't going to let him close up, not with _this _between them.

"Sam, I was a kid. I'm sure I was whiny and bitching and moaning and _exaggerating_."

Sam shook his head, the tears returning to his eyes again. "No, Dean. You didn't whine or bitch and you certainly didn't exaggerate."

Sam didn't intend to tell Dean all of what he had said as a child, all of what he had revealed. He wasn't going to keep it a secret, if it came up or Dean asked but he didn't think that Dean wanted to know all that had happened. But there was one thing that Sam had to ask.

"Dean, when did you stop wanting to be a firefighter? When did you start wanting to be a hunter?"

Dean laughed a little, slightly more at ease with that question than whatever else the older man was probably imagining Sam asking.

"I actually told Gordon this story, ya know? I was sixteen when I realized I would never be able to walk away, not like you did."

Sam flinched even though he knew that this time Dean hadn't said it to be deliberately provoking. Still the younger man knew that that his time at college would be something that would take them both a long time to get over.

"I just would never be able to walk away and leave all those people to their fate, never pretend that I didn't know what was out there or that it didn't involve me."

Sam just nodded because that was what he had thought. This was _their_ life and it looked to have just gotten a whole lot better.


	9. Coming Up Roses Ch 1

Sam woke early, the soft light of the sunrise filtering through the motel blinds to land on the slack face of his sleeping companion. Dean was on his back, his face turned towards Sam, his features looking angelic in repose, the ever present 'game face' smoothed away.

Jesus, but Dean was beautiful, just really ridiculously beautiful. Most days Sam was still in shock, could barely keep his hands off the older man. He loved the mornings, loved having Dean warm and pliant and sleepy…and cranky. Sam even liked Dean's gruff, grumpy morning bitchiness, because God knew that hadn't changed.

The last two months that they had been together had been wonderful…and difficult. Life certainly hadn't been coming up roses just because they were in love.

Sam curled himself more around Dean's outstretched body and thought back to those first moments in that stone circle. Dean's first words after his confessional moment about his childhood, had been, "Dude, where are my clothes?"

Sam had been less than thrilled about the idea of Dean getting dressed when he had finally gotten his brother naked but he had been able to clearly see his brother's skin breaking out in gooseflesh. Still Sam couldn't have resisted taking a moment to kiss his brother's plush lips again before he had sat up to grab the duffel, zipping up his own pants as an afterthought.

Dean had looked even smaller as he had sat up, hugging himself in the cold. He had started ribbing Sam immediately, saying, "Man, you're gonna be really touchy-feely aren't you?", but Dean's eyes had been happy, crinkling at the corners.

Dean had winced as he had stood up and Sam had had to explain that he had been injured as an eight year old, that Sam had let his eight year old brother be bait and get injured. Sam had thought then that it was too bad he couldn't carry Dean around anymore to keep the elder hunter off of the injury. Well, Sam could have carried Dean, but he was fairly sure he'd have gotten an elbow to the face for it.

Things had started to become more awkward as they had begun walking toward the car. Sam hadn't been able to keep his eyes off his brother, but when he had looked at Dean, Dean had quickly looked away. Sam had chuckled to himself that he and Dean were doing exactly what Dean and Cassie had done, looking only when the other wasn't, too afraid to make eye contact.

Despite the music that Dean had put on in the Impala, the lack of conversation in the car on the ride back to the motel had been speaking loud and clear. And the message had been that they were both uncomfortable and confused. Sam had felt truly odd sitting on his side of the front seat, like there was way too much space between them all of a sudden.

And Sam had been afraid that Dean would use the space to clam up, back away emotionally.

And he had been right. When they had gotten back to the motel, Dean had quickly started stripping to a t-shirt and boxers, his normal sleeping attire. Sam had noticed, as well as noticed his brother's lethargic movements and half-lidded eyes.

"Your bed has blood on it. We can both nap on my bed."

Dean's head had jerked up, his eyes searching Sam's face. Dean obviously hadn't thought about them sleeping in the same bed. Tucking his face down, Dean had scratched the back of his head in a blatant display of discomfort, before gesturing for Sam to climb in. Sam had barely managed to stop an eye roll as he had realized that Dean had still been trying to be on the outside, nearer the door.

Sam had curled on his side toward Dean, but Dean had lain down on his stomach, obviously stiff and facing away. Just like in the car Sam had wanted to reach out, to touch Dean, but had been too afraid and insecure.

Dean had quickly dropped off, his breathing becoming deep and his body becoming lax. Sam had scooted closer and laid a single hand on the small of his brother's back, wishing it were touching skin.

When Sam had woken, he had been alone in the bed, though the space beside him was still warm and the shower had been on. He had resolved right then not to let the awkwardness continue to grow. Sam had been the one to start this and it had become clear that it would have to be Sam to continue it.

Sam had slipped into the bathroom as Dean had come out in one of those tiny, practically threadbare motel towels. He had had to shut the door quickly because he had really needed to brush his teeth before starting anything despite the vision that was Dean naked and still damp from the shower.

Dean had been half dressed by the time Sam had come back out, jeans on and searching for a clean t-shirt. Sam had pressed the length of his body against Dean's back and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. Dean had gone utterly still in Sam's embrace before the younger man had spoken.

"Now I'll just have to take these clothes back off you."

Dean had let out an embarrassed half-choked laugh before Sam had turned his brother around and tilted Dean's face for a kiss. But Dean's lips had been as tense as the rest of him, nervous as a virgin on a prom night. In fact, Sam would have bet money that Dean had been less tense, much less tense the first time that he had been with a girl.

"If you don't want this, Dean…"

"I do. I do want it." Dean's answer had been quick and earnest and had made Sam relax again immediately.

"But the heat of the moment is one thing, this…"

Sam had interrupted, his voice low and breathy, "Every moment with you is heated…"

Sam had been leaning in, trying to recapture those lips that had long ago captured his imagination, but he had been stopped by the shocked look on Dean's face. And then Dean had turned bright red before stammering out, "You use that line on girls?"

His forehead had dropped to Dean's shoulder and they had both laughed, easing the tension a little before Dean had spoken again.

"Sam, you know…I'm no good at this."

Dean had shaken his head a little with that self-deprecating smile on his face and not for the first time Sam had wanted to knock that look right off Dean's pretty face.

"You haven't really tried. I'm not looking for perfection here, we're gonna have to, you know, figure things out as we go along. Like all relationships."

He had said it, 'relationship'. Sam had expected his brother to head for the hills, but Dean had simply continued looking downward, nodding absently as he had taken in Sam's words.

Sam had tilted Dean's face back up with fingers underneath his brother's jaw and that time their kiss had been warm and wet and gently exploring. Until Dean had pulled back again.

Now Sam had to admit, seeing Dean flustered and shy was a huge turn-on. Sam had loved, still loved how he seemed to be the only one who could affect his older brother like that, but the hesitation could definitely be taken too far.

"Sammy, I've never, you know, **been** with another guy." The embarrassed look on Dean's face as he had said _that_ had been priceless. Dean hated when people thought he was gay and yet he had been embarrassed by his lack of experience with men.

Sam had smiled openly. "Neither have I."

"Better not."

"What was that?"

Sam had asked jokingly. Dean had spoken in a low gruff murmur, but Sam had heard the words and his grin had gotten even wider. It had been good to know that Sam wasn't going to be the only possessive one.

"Dean," the word had been a whisper of breath as Sam's lips had covered the older man's again, hoping to effectively end any further conversation.

Sam had only broken away again to shuck his own t-shirt. Dean had quickly caught on and had managed to help with the undressing, though Sam had quite enjoyed slipping his hands down the back of Dean's jeans, sliding them over the firm flesh of Dean's ass as he _helped_ push them down. And then Sam had been pressing Dean down into the mattress and Sam really liked that, Dean naked under him, looking up at him with those wide eyes with the pupils blown and those lips, parted and wet.

Again Dean had attempted to get up, but Sam had pressed him down with a hand and again his brother had submitted, let Sam take the lead.

It had been slow and gentle that time, more of a gentle exploration of the hills and valleys of soft skin, soothing as Dean had still seemed tense being under that much scrutiny, the recipient of that much attention. Sam had traced each scar with his tongue, fit his hands to every plane and curve, suckled first taut pink nipples and then, finally, the head of Dean's cock.

Dean's cock had been hot, so hot and the skin soft. Sam had explored it just as thoroughly, licking the vein that ran along the underside and kissing up one side and down the other. He had pressed the flat of his tongue into the slit before opening his mouth wide and beginning a steady rhythm. Though Sam had no experience with other men, giving head turned out to be entirely self-explanatory.

And Sam actually enjoyed it, the weight of Dean's cock in his mouth, the slide of it between his lips, the taste of his brother on his tongue. Pleasuring Dean had made Sam so frantic, he had had to slide farther down the bed so he could thrust his own throbbing cock against the sheets, humping the mattress to get some measure of relief.

Dean had pushed himself up on his elbows to watch for a moment and Sam had felt both oddly self-conscious for his brother to watch him perform and incredibly turned-on to see those green eyes full of lust and awe.

Breaking from his memories, Sam wrapped his long arms around his still sleeping brother and pulled, sliding the smaller man's back into his own chest. Yes, there were definite perks to this new change in their relationship. He enjoyed knowing these new facets to his brother.

He liked knowing that the spot below Dean's ear, the one that Sam was now in fact breathing on, got his big brother hot and bothered in an instant. Or that once he was hot, Dean's nipples were so sensitive that sucking on them took the elder man from turned-on to desperate and thrashing. Sam liked knowing the deep musk scent of Dean's sex, the sounds Dean made when he was close, the look on his face as he came, the sight of those luscious lips wrapped around Sam's own member.

Sam liked Dean curled over his lap almost as much as he liked the smaller man underneath him. Dean's first time giving oral sex had been more tense, though, the older man more nervous.

It hadn't happened until the next night, when they had been in another town, another motel room. That whole day had been tense, both of them awkwardly wondering if they should act differently now. Sam found himself reaching out to Dean several times only to check himself before his hand made contact. Dean had been quiet and sometimes the elder hunter had pursed his lips, looking at Sam like he wanted to say something but then had thought better of it.

Eventually they both had slipped back into their old pattern of doing things. They had gone to a bar to get some greasy food for dinner, but Sam had insisted they turn in early. It was almost like nothing had happened, nothing had changed, but Sam hadn't let that happen.

Dean had let Sam into the room first, but then had turned away to shuck his jacket and hang it on the back of a chair. When Dean had turned back around, Sam had been there, one hand fisting in Dean's unbuttoned over-shirt and the other going to the back of the elder man's head.

Dean had been shocked, apparently having been lulled into a sense of security. But that time, Dean had ultimately responded just as ardently, his own arms had come up to Sam's back, pulling them together forcefully.

Still though, the elder man had not touched either of their clothes, made no overtures to the clothing's removal until Sam did, only willing to go where Sam led. Only once the skin was revealed did Dean's hands begin to wander. That time, Dean had used more of his skilled experience to make Sam frenzied. Those slender agile fingers had pulled and prodded, tickled and scratched lightly, seeming to know just where to touch and for how long and how hard, and the feel of those sinful lips dragging over his skin…until Dean had gotten to Sam's cock.

Then it was like Dean had suddenly realized what he was doing, and with whom. He had frozen and then pulled away, sat back on his heels. Fortunately Sam had moved quickly, grabbing onto Dean's arms and pulling him back into an embrace. The soothing kisses that Sam had laid on Dean's lips had quickly rekindled Dean's lust and the kisses turned frantic and then Sam had been shoved back onto the pillows.

Whatever lack of experience Dean had, the older man had made up for in intensity. Dean gave oral sex like Sam and Sam's pleasure were the only things that mattered in the universe, at least to him.

Yeah so their sex life was great, mostly. Sam was still the one to initiate anything ninety percent of the time. And, of course, they hadn't actually had _sex_, not penetrative anyway, and Sam desperately wanted to. He wanted to be inside Dean so bad it was like all he could think about.

He had tried to feel out the other man's feelings about it. The first time that Sam's finger had brushed Dean's anus while they were fooling around in the shower had earned a subtle re-maneuvering of Sam's gigantic paw. The second time had gotten Sam shoved up against the shower wall while Dean had made a good faith effort to suck out Sam's soul through his dick.

Sam had, of course, tried again, the next time when Dean was already thrusting erratically in the throes of an impending orgasm. And Dean hadn't pulled away that time, in fact, Dean had pushed down against the digit, seeking as much friction and sensation as possible.

So the problem wasn't that Dean didn't like _that _being touched during sex. In fact, Sam would have bet considerable money that with the type, and number, of girls that Dean had had sex with that at least one had been kinky enough to already have breached that taboo.

When Sam had suggested that Sam bottom, the younger hunter had gotten a flat-out no. No explanation either.

Sam was pretty sure that was because Sam was younger and Dean didn't want to 'hurt' his younger brother, didn't want to corrupt or 'force' Sammy. The whole idea of Dean forcing him to do anything was preposterous since it was Dean who couldn't say no to Sam's pleading. He just didn't know how to get through to the older hunter.


	10. Coming Up Roses ch 2

Dean snuffled, shifting in Sam's arms as he clung to the remnants of sleep. Sam smiled and pressed his nose to the back of Dean's neck. Dean was so adorable. No, the elder man had not turned as cuddly as Snuggles the fabric softener teddy bear, but Dean did allow Sam to hold him.

Sam had to initiate everything between them. The younger hunter had to remind himself that Dean literally had no experience at this. This was his Sammy, this mattered and there were consequences. If this didn't work out between them, if they failed, fucked up…what would be left? That possibility scared Sam even though he was certain that this was right, that _this _was what they both needed.

The longest relationship Dean had ever had could be counted in weeks, not months or years. Sam had seen Dean be disgustingly affectionate with a girlfriend before, but it had all seemed part of the _game_, part of Dean's con when the girl didn't really matter, when their family was moving on in a week anyway. Dean had never had a relationship where he woke up to the same person for months. It had injected a level of discomfort into the brothers' relationship, a level of anxiety and of…excitement. The excitement of new love, of infatuation, of wanting everything to be perfect.

Dean seemed too afraid to reach out to Sam, too afraid of his younger brother's rejection. Dean would survive it if Sam decided to just go back to being brothers, but not if Sam rejected his advances. So the older man seemed content to let Sam drive them, to let Sam take what he needed.

But every time that Sam touched Dean, the look on Dean's face was of surprise and awe, like he couldn't believe that Sam wanted him. And embarrassment like Dean was insecure being the center of Sam's attention, like he was certain if Sam looked too close the younger hunter would suddenly discover that Dean wasn't worth it.

When Sam would lean in for a kiss before they left the motel room, stroke his hand down the elder man's back as Sam walked past, when Sam would place his hand over Dean's as it lay on the motel room table between them…Dean would look stunned, pleased, and uncomfortable all rolled together.

And then there was the fact that they couldn't touch in public, not often at least. There was the fact that it didn't fit their usual cover as agents of some law enforcement agency to be lovers, and then there was the fact that they were mostly in small town, middle America.

Sam resented having to hide another portion of his life when he wanted to shout to the rooftops how happy he was. But then…they were both a little self-conscious about being 'gay' in public. Neither man identified himself as 'gay' no matter who they were sleeping with.

It was one thing to play along when people assumed they were a couple, but it was another to actually be with a member of the same gender and worry about people seeing them. No matter how secure Sam had thought he was in his sexuality, no matter how enlightened the younger hunter had imagined himself to be, he couldn't help being uncomfortable sometimes, afraid of other people's opinions.

It was worse for Dean, Sam was sure. Dean talked big about not fitting into 'normal' society anyway, but Sam knew that his older brother was more sensitive to other people than he let on. He had seen it when Dean had been transformed into a child, but he hadn't needed that evidence. It was why Dean was so charming, why he fit in so easily in so many different settings.

But Dean had this macho image, bought into that strict gender role that probably was a result of his traumatic childhood, just like Dean's low self-esteem, feelings of self-loathing, and overt sexuality.

With regret, Sam realized that they needed to get out of bed. They were supposed to get up early and get on the road. They had just finished up a poltergeist and were on their way to a suspected haunting. The towns were incidental.

Sam nipped the shell of Dean's ear, hard enough to be felt and squeezed the naked body in his arms. Dean whined though the elder man would deny making that noise if given a chance. Rolling to his back, Sam pulled Dean to lie on his chest face first.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, pressing his face into Sam's chest as he kicked his legs before settling sprawled like a limp ragdoll on top of the larger man. Sam kept his arms around the other man.

"Sammy, I'm not a teddy bear."

"Really? Because you're awfully cuddly," Sam spoke in a slightly baby-ish voice because he knew that it annoyed his older brother.

"Sam…" Dean's voice was a warning growl, though it wasn't very threatening muffled as it was against Sam's skin and still gravelly from sleep.

Sam laughed and rolled to his side a little again so that he could see Dean's face.

"Time to get up."

Sam nuzzled the skin where his brother's jaw met his neck and then kissed the corner of Dean's mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean smile at the ticklish sensation before Dean arranged his face in an overdone scowl and pulled his face away.

"I'm up, I'm up. Geez…"

Then Sam was through teasing, he kissed Dean, relishing how the older hunter immediately responded, Dean's hand coming up to tangle in Sam's hair. The kiss was hungry and open-mouthed, morning breath be damned.

But they didn't have time to start anything, so regretfully Sam pulled away. He couldn't help laughing softly at the pout on his brother's wet lips as he did. Course that resulted in a glare and a scowl, particularly as Dean pulled himself up and trudged to the bathroom.

Soon Sam was again riding shotgun in the car, the Impala a black beast eating up the miles and growling its hunger for more. Dean had gone to get them coffee while Sam had showered. And blueberry muffins. Sam had almost burst into tears much to Dean's confusion and dismay.

Sam was gaining a new appreciation for riding in the car. It was a lot like when they were kids actually. Once Dean had turned fifteen, their father had determined that Dean was old enough to drive. John had started being gone for a lot longer then. Their Dad would occasionally 'disappear' on a hunt, be gone for longer than he had said.

Now that Sam thought back on that time with an adult's perspective, he realized how hard it must have been for Dean. Dean trying to make his way through high school while practically being a parent to a preteen. He had made Sam's meals and walked Sam to school and back, asked about Sam's day. Dean had paid the bills, bought the food, decided what they could or couldn't afford, all the while worrying about their father and trying to convince Sam that everything was fine.

Sam had to wonder how Dean had managed to always have enough money when they had no idea how long what Dad had left them would have to last. He knew that Dean often got jobs around as a mechanic or a dishwasher, but they were difficult to find since Dean could never commit to more than a couple of weeks. But Sam also remembered Dean going into bars to hustle pool or poker long before Dean was old enough to drink.

Sam felt stupid to worry about what had happened in the past but he couldn't help searching his memories for clues to things that at the time he had not thought to look for. A slender teenager alone in a bar, much less that Dean had been actively hustling older men out of their money, even if Dean had been well trained by the age of fifteen…who knows what could have happened? Who knew what did happen? But in a childhood where Dean had often been bruised it was impossible to remember how often Dean had come back from those places with fresh bruises, impossible to know about injuries that were hidden by clothes.

As well as it was impossible to remember how much Dean had eaten during those times. Dean seemed to operate under the principle of feast or famine, stuffing his face whenever there was food available. Knowing that, it seemed even more probable to Sam that Dean hadn't always had enough to eat, that his older brother had gone hungry so that Sam could eat.

And Sam knew that he himself had not been easy to live with during those times. The youngest Winchester had often argued and screamed and cried and complained. He had been so frustrated with their life and their father, so angry, and so afraid, afraid for himself, afraid for his family. Sam had lashed out at Dean because his brother was there to be yelled at when John wasn't, because Dean was the authority figure, and because Dean didn't complain. His older brother just looked after Sam, looked after John, did the training, did the hunting, packed his stuff and moved onto the next town without complaint.

Those 'disappearances' were why Dean had gotten the Impala in the first place. Their father would be gone and then they would get a call, no explanation just coordinates at which to meet. So the two brothers would take off in the Impala which had become Dean's by default. Dean had needed a car if he was going to cart Sam around and Dad thought that a truck would be more practical for hunts. There had been no ceremony to it, no special occasion. Dean hadn't jumped for joy or showed their father any emotion about it at all. Only Sam saw how Dean treasured that car.

Except now there were additional perks to riding in the car with Dean. Sam scooted closer and stretched his arm out across the back of the seat, just brushing Dean's back. Sam remembered the first time he had touched Dean in the car after their relationship had changed.

Sam had been enjoying the view and had trailed a finger down the side of Dean's face. Dean had jerked away so hard the car had swerved. Then the older man had laughed nervously and shot Sam a glance out of the corner of his eye, before doing his nervous cough, throat-clearing thing and trying to look serious.

It was a fine line, trying not to be so touchy feely that it was annoying while at the same time giving in to the urge often enough to keep the connection, not wanting things to go back to how they were before, looking but not touching, wanting but not having.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: So sorry for the long delay to this chapter. It took me a while to come up with the actual story for the sequel, something that would allow me to continue to explore Dean's childhood while also exploring the brothers' changed relationship. I've also had to date these stories, so this takes place in season two before the yellow-eyed demon's death, before the deal, before hell…Hope y'all like this one as much. To Be Young Again locked me into an age. I couldn't deal with anything that might have happened in their lives after Dean was eight years old, so this one allows me to comment on any aspect of their childhood, but is more dependent on Sam's memory of those days. Review Please and tell me if you like it._

Sam carded his fingers up through the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, staring at his brother's profile. He figured he had maybe five seconds before Dean protested being stared at. Dean hated being stared at and he _always_ knew. Sam swore that he could wake Dean up by just staring at his brother.

This time though, Sam could tell Dean's attention was elsewhere. Dean's eyes began darting around and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. Sam shot a glance out the windshield but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Dean..?"

"Oh my God, Sam, I knew this town sounded familiar."

Dean's eyes left the road to glance at Sam's face, his green eyes bright and amused.

"Dude, we lived in this town. Don't you remember? God, what was that girl's name..? Tiffany, she had this great rack and wore these tiny…"

Dean trailed off in his rambling reminisces as he glanced back at Sam's face, no doubt seeing the annoyed, jealous glower that the younger Winchester was shooting him. Dean pursed his lips and looked back at the road. Sam could practically see Dean gathering his courage, lowering his walls before the elder hunter reached across the seat and squeezed Sam's thigh, keeping his eyes ahead as he always did when he was anywhere in the neighborhood of being emotionally vulnerable.

Sam recognized the effort that simple move had taken and he appreciated the sentiment. And Sam made sure to reward or at least acknowledge his brother's effort. He squeezed Dean's hand quickly before it was removed and then moved closer to his brother on the bench seat. Sam's left hand continued to stroke through the dark blonde hair.

"How old were we?" Sam asked.

"I was sixteen, you were twelve. It was right after that werewolf."

Sam did remember that. Dean had gotten thrown around a little, funny how Dean never remembered that part, but Sam always did. Dean had had to attend his first day of school in this town with half his face a rainbow of colors and stitches in his left thigh that made the older brother walk stiffly.

They had stayed in the town three months, not really long enough for it to have made much of an impression on Sam, not enough time to make friends or join clubs.

They had moved less as Sam had gotten older, long enough for Sam to go to the soccer championships, long enough to be in a school play. They had been able to stay because Dean had been older, a teenager, old enough to take care of everything, to sign or forge Sam's school forms and make sure Sam's records from the last school were there, old enough to keep CPS off their backs. Just one more thing that Sam had been given because Dean had given up his own life.

"So what's going on?"

"In the last seven years, five male teens have committed suicide."

"Sam, I hate to point this out but that happens all the time, teen angst running rampant and all, it's sad but..."

Sam huffed, he just couldn't help himself. "But these seem to be in addition to the number you'd expect, and all five died in the same way, identical cuts on their wrists. Hey, turn left here."

They pulled up to a yellow two story house on a slight hill. It was a far cry from the neighborhood where they had stayed when they had lived in that town.

They had already put on their suits, having stopped the night before only two hours away from their destination. Feds were the only thing the brothers could think of that might investigate this kind of thing, or at least the thing that most people wouldn't question.

A man in his late twenties answered the door, average looking, brown eyes, brown hair, jeans and a t-shirt. They already had their ID's out and Sam was opening his mouth to speak when he realized that Dean recognized the man.

"You're FBI?" The man asked with almost a smirk on his face.

Sam looked to Dean who was pursing his lips in surprise and confusion, obviously not thinking that the other man would remember him, but as always the elder brother recovered quickly.

"Dean right? Dean Winchester, like the gun." The man extended his hand.

Dean smiled right back, extending his own hand as if nothing was wrong at all. Sam himself was just glad that the man had spoken before they had introduced themselves using fake names. Now he hoped that the man wouldn't look too hard at their ID's to notice the name discrepancy.

"Yeah, uh, Jim…Jimmy Roth. Didn't know whether you'd remember…"

Jimmy laughed. "It's a small town, and you caused quite a stir."

Sam was intrigued. Dean, despite that he seemed to hate being the center of attention, had a way of making himself memorable and not always in a good way. When Dean entered a room, everyone watched the hunter, either because Dean was beautiful or because he looked like trouble depending on the circumstances. Sam himself didn't think that he would be recognized. He knew that he looked a great deal different than the chubby twelve year old that he had been in this town.

"Yeah," Dean's voice seemed less than enthused about the idea of being remembered so vividly. "Oh, this is my partner, John Bonham."

Sam held out his own hand which the man shook firmly.

Jimmy's attention quickly focused back on the elder brother though, as he gestured for the two men to come inside, not even questioning what the Feds might be there to investigate. "You know I'm not surprised that you'd become a Fed. I mean, you definitely knew how to fight. I remember how easily you took down Ricky that time, even injured…"

Jimmy's voice trailed off as the man led them to the living room. He seemed suddenly contrite, as if he realized that he was about to tread on a sensitive subject. The man gestured for the two brothers to sit in two lounge chairs.

"Look, I'm sorry about how we treated you back then…"

Sam didn't have to look to know that Dean's body had stiffened in response to the man's words, and when Sam did look over, that self-deprecating smile was back on Dean's face. That smile that said that Dean didn't think that he was worth apologizing to, that he was used to being treated like that and expected it.

"Nah, it was just kid stuff."

Jimmy, and suddenly Sam was feeling less benevolent toward the man, nodded but continued. "I know, but really, we should have been trying to help you, not teasing you. I mean, your family situation…"

All traces of a smile had disappeared from Dean's face as he answered. "My father didn't beat me, Jim."

Dean spared a glance at Sam, a look that said that Dean wished that Sam wasn't here for this, that Sammy wasn't hearing this.

Meanwhile, Sam was honestly surprised that anyone had thought that their father abused them, or at least abused Dean. Neglected, yeah, but abused? He had known that CPS was always a worry in the back of their father's mind, that they had occasionally left a town simply because of the threat of CPS investigating them. Fortunately, CPS was, in general, loathe to take children away from a parent without substantial evidence.

Sam himself had certainly been to high school with bruises, embarrassed at looking like he'd been in a car accident, which actually had been their most used excuse, but Sam hadn't been injured as badly or as often or at as young an age as Dean, hadn't even been allowed to participate in a hunt until he was fourteen. And Jimmy seemed so sure, so vehement…

When Sam looked back at Jimmy, disbelief was written all over the guy's face. Still when the man spoke again his voice was purposefully soft, gentle and Sam hated the idea of anyone pitying his brother.

"Yeah right, Dean. We saw the marks all over you and the way your father acted, when he came to get you from the principle's office…Sorry but we were all waiting outside. We all wanted a glimpse of the infamous John Winchester. And he was so intense. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had hit you right there."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes again, before he turned back to the man in front of them. "You're exaggerating. Look, we're here about Ted. He committed suicide?"

Jimmy's face seemed to crumple in on itself and just like that the previous conversation was forgotten. Apparently Ted had been Jimmy's younger brother. The two Roth brothers hadn't been terribly close due to the difference in their ages, but the teen's death had still hit the family hard. Jimmy was staying at his parents' house for a few days to help out.

"Can you tell me when he started to seem depressed?"

"That's just it. He wasn't. Ted was fine, I mean, he was a teenager, but he didn't seem depressed."

"What did he do in the week before his death."

Sam busily wrote down every place the teen had gone, everyone he had talked to, everything he had done in the week prior to his death.

As they drove to the next house, Sam couldn't keep from thinking about Jimmy's words. He knew that their father hadn't hit them, hadn't hit Dean. Dean would never have been able to keep something like that secret.

Sam was only now discovering exactly how much he had been shielded from the worst of things when he had been a child. Their father had definitely treated them differently.

Sam had always been a needy child; sullen, screaming, pouting, crying, the youngest Winchester was just difficult to ignore. John responded in kind; screaming right back when they were fighting, but the great hunter had also been occasionally gentle, consoling when trying to explain, to coerce his youngest into accepting the life they led.

Like the surprise phone call that led to Sam walking out on Dean before the scarecrow incident. Dad had talked to Sam, tried to get Sam to understand, to agree. John's voice had started out consoling, sympathetic about Jessica's death, asking if the brothers were alright…but then had turned harsher at Sam's defiance.

By the time Dean got the phone however, Dad had just ordered his eldest to obey. Dean never got any explanation, never heard his father's concern over their health. Of course, what would that concern have meant to Dean anyway, after Dad had failed to call when Dean was dying of heart failure?

Dad had taken Dean for granted, had probably been only too thankful not to have to worry about his eldest. John had an entirely different tone when speaking to Dean, quiet but intense, disappointment dripping off the words when upset, words that burned like acid and frustration that sounded too much like disdain.

And Dean just accepted the blame, shouldered the burden as always no matter how difficult to bear. Dean was supposed to be perfect and Dean had tried to be.

Yet Dean had loved the man unconditionally. Dean had a very different relationship with their father, more of a soldier and his general, of two adults. Because John had treated Dean as an adult for as long as Sam could remember. Dad had needed someone to help, had needed Dean to be responsible for Sam, had needed Dean's help on the hunts and so Dean's childhood had been taken away.

Not so for Sam. Sam was not expected to take care of anyone else. He hadn't started hunting until he was fourteen because Dad already had someone to watch his back when Caleb and Pastor Jim were busy or when John had had a falling out with his friends.

Dean had been there when John had first been finding out about the supernatural. He had been there as John had learned what it meant to be a hunter, as John had seen other families ripped apart by the unimaginable just as their own had been, as he had learned that not everyone could be saved…Dean had learned those things too, except Dean had been a child.

And Dean had loved John not just as their father, but as a friend and confidante. The two oldest Winchesters could spend hours talking about ghost killing strategies and new tools for the hunt.

Sam had always believed that their father loved Dean more, because Dean was the obedient son that Sam could never be. Now he knew that John had seen his two boys totally differently. Dean hadn't had it any easier, certainly hadn't had any more of their father's love.


	12. Coming Up Roses Ch 4

They spent the rest of the day interviewing the families of the other victims. None of the other families recognized Dean.

Sam had asked only one question about what Jimmy had said. Though Sam was fairly sure of the answer, the younger brother just couldn't help but make certain.

He had asked if John had ever hit Dean.

To which Dean had responded with a highly affronted "No!"

"Sam, what the fuck?! You know Dad didn't. He's just intense and they all jumped to the wrong conclusion," Dean had said.

Sam did know how frightening John could appear and so had let it drop. They got dinner at a drive-through and headed to a hotel.

It turned out to be the same hotel that they had stayed in before, a run-down affair just outside of town. This town wasn't exactly a tourist mecca.

Dean had gone inside to get the room, while Sam got the bags. He entered the lobby just in time to overhear his brother's conversation with an older lady at the counter. Apparently the woman must have also remembered Dean as they were talking like old friends.

"I'm so glad to hear that your brother is traveling with you, though the circumstances are certainly regrettable. I know how hard it was for you when he started to pull away. I know how hard it was for me when my own children started to grow up, wanted to do their own thing, thought they knew it all. It was worse for you though, I know. I mean most people, they have a life of their own, they grow up, get married, have a job, then they have kids. But you, you were still a child yourself trying to take care of little Sammy. It's amazing how kids become your whole world, but with you, he really was."

Sam was stunned. He had never thought of it that way. Trying to be quiet, Sam snuck back outside to wait while Dean paid for the room.

Dean had always been there for him, taking the place of an often absent father. Dean had always been trying to fix things for Sam, whether it was to beat up a bully at school or coming to his school play, taking the heat from Dad when Sam didn't want to train or protecting Sam during a hunt, just being there when Sam wanted to talk.

Dean had stayed even after turning eighteen. He had stayed to continue to take care of Sam so that their father could continue to hunt, continue to leave. Dean had stayed to continue being Dad's back up.

Yes, Dean had been there for both Sam and John, no matter what it had cost him. And how had Sam repaid him? He hadn't even talked to Dean about going to college. He had just sprung it on his brother at the last minute. Sam had been so worried about their father's reaction he hadn't even thought about Dean.

He had told Dean that leaving home was what eighteen year olds were supposed to do. But what would have happened to Sam if Dean had left as Sam had? How much worse would life have been?

For four years the brothers didn't even speak because Sam had lumped Dean in with their father, had wanted to leave everything about his old life behind.

He had thought of Dean, but he hadn't thought of Dean's feelings. When things had gotten hard during those first two years, his first thought was to call Dean, to have his older brother come and fix things for him. But Sam was stubborn and he hadn't wanted to admit defeat.

They had finished eating and were going over the information they had garnered about the victims. Sam sat in a chair, pushed away from the desk while Dean prowled the room, unable to sit still as usual. It was late and they were both tired and a little frustrated. No case was ever easy.

Sam caught Dean's wrist as the older man made another circuit by Sam's chair. With a hard tug, he pulled Dean forward onto his lap, hands immediately going to his brother's butt to hold the man straddling him close.

Dean's hands ended up on Sam's shoulders as the elder hunter fought for balance.

"Man, what deity's perverse sense of humor was it that decided you should be bigger?" Dean's complaint and overdone frown was expected and easily ignored.

Sam laughed and pulled Dean forward harder, thrusting his crotch up to rub against the other man's.

"I like it."

"You would, you're the one who's bigger."

But Dean's smile was pure sex as he leaned forward, the motion of his hips suggestive and inviting, teasing them both before giving Sam a small kiss.

Without warning, Sam hooked his arms under Dean's thighs and stood, dropping Dean on the bed behind. Dean's shocked expression at being manhandled was short lived, though, as Sam began removing his clothing, motivating Dean to do the same.

Sam leaned over his brother as soon as they were naked, kneeling over his brother as their lips met again.

Maneuvering his arms beneath Dean's torso, Sam flipped them over. Dean's smile was knowing as he began to move down Sam's body.

Sam stopped him with both hands, pulling on Dean's biceps to encourage the elder man to move up. Dean's face showed confusion but after a moment's hesitation he complied.

Comprehension didn't dawn on Dean's features until he was straddling Sam's chest. Sam lifted his head to lick at Dean's penis, but still his brother was wary. Sam used his hands to encourage.

Cautiously, Dean kneeled up to be in a better position and with a hand, pressed his sex into Sam's mouth. The first thrusts were slow and gentle despite Sam's hands on Dean's ass attempting to pull Dean in hard.

Giving in a little, Dean lifted his own hands to grip the top of the headboard ferociously. Sam waited until Dean had become more enthusiastic and less concerned that he would hurt the younger man. Then he lifted a hand and slid a finger inside his brother's open mouth.

Dean looked down with amusement as his lips closed around the digit, sucking and laving it without understanding Sam's ultimate goal. The finger was withdrawn and Sam maneuvered his right hand under his brother's spread thighs.

Slowly but firmly, Sam pressed the finger inside, up to the first knuckle. Dean gasped and jerked. Sam took that as encouragement and pressed the digit in further.

He knew that he had found his target when Dean's head came forward and his brother had spoken in that breathy deep voice, "There. God, right there, Sam."

Sam was transfixed by the view. Dean kneeling above him, muscles taut and straining as he sought his own pleasure, hips rolling to take advantage of both sensations, and the sounds, breathy moans and deep groans…Sam literally thought the headboard was in danger of breaking Dean was gripping it so hard.

And then Dean came with a series of erratic thrusts, forward and backward, biting his bottom lip to muffle garbled whimpered words.

Carefully he removed his finger and Dean collapsed onto the bed next to Sam. The younger man wasted no time, immediately turning towards his brother and laying soft kisses on Dean's face.

"Jesus, Dean. I want to make love to you…"

That was as far as he got. Dean's long lashes lifted immediately, unveiling those big green eyes that looked at Sam with what the younger man imagined was lust and longing and fear and apology.

"Sam, I need…" Dean's voice is thick clogged with the remnants of his orgasm and perhaps with emotion. "I just need a little time, to get used to all this."

Sam nodded. Despite the disappointment he felt, he couldn't, wouldn't press. He knew that Dean would more than likely give in if pressed and he didn't want to use his brother like that.

Instead he attacked Dean's mouth, sloppy hungry kisses that distract them both and thrusts his own erection in the groove between Dean's torso and his leg, that trough of muscle. It felt strangely intimate, sharing the same breath as his own orgasm swept through Sam.

Conscious of his greater weight, Sam rolled to the side before collapsing himself. Dean's breath had already evened out as he stroked a hand up the younger man's flank, easing his brother down.

It was long moments before Sam brain began to function again, and even longer until Sam got up the courage to ask what was weighing on his mind. Again, the younger Winchester just can't help himself, he had to ask, he always has.

"Dean…"

Dean must have sensed the chick-flick coming, felt it in the lines of his brother's body because he interrupted, trying to head off the inevitable.

"Do we have to talk Sam? Now? Can't we just lie here...?"

"Dean, I just have to ask. Has anyone…" God Sam could barely form the words and he knew his face had just turned five shades of red.

"Has anyone hurt you?"

Dean turned to look at his brother, leaning his head on a hand, confusion evident on his face.

"Hurt me?"

"I mean, sexually."

"What? Sam, has anyone touched you?"

He should have known. Dean's thoughts were immediately on Sam rather than himself, protective and concerned.

"No, Dean, never. I'm asking if anyone hurt you?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

Dean sat up then, his voice becoming angry and indignant.

"I just…I don't know, we spent our childhoods in skeevy motel rooms and you were always going out alone to get things…and then you went to those bars when you were like fifteen…"

Dean's face was a scowl and he got up to put his boxers on, as if clothing would somehow make him feel less vulnerable. Sam sat up too as his brother began to pace.

"This is what you've been worrying about? You think that someone…" Dean was obviously having trouble even saying the words 'raped me', unable even to voice the concept and so the older man finished with "touched me?"

"No…I don't know…I mean Dad would be gone and we wouldn't know for how long, but you always took care of everything."

"Sam, when we were little, I always called Bobby or Pastor Jim to come get us if Dad wasn't home on time. And then when I got older, I tried to hold out longer…"

"You mean you stopped eating." Sam hadn't meant it to sound so accusatory.

Dean growled, obviously not wanting to go there. "It wasn't a big deal, Sam."

"Not a big deal, you were a kid Dean and you didn't have enough to eat. And I never even knew."

"You didn't need to know. It was my responsibility."

Sam couldn't help the tears that welled in his own eyes. "And you were just a kid in those bars, anything could have happened to you."

Responding to Sam's distress, Dean moved close again to take Sam into his arms. It just made Sam feel worse. Dean was the one who had gone hungry, Sam should have been comforting him.

"I handled it. I was careful. Stayed to well lit, well populated streets and bars, didn't even go to the bathroom. If a guy got angry, it was always broken up quickly…"

Pulling away, "Jesus Christ, Dean! You were fifteen and you knew all too well what happens to little boys caught alone. Like you said when you were a kid…"

"What?"

Sam took a breath to compose himself and his thoughts. "When you were turned into an eight year old, you said some guy in the parking lot of a motel tried to…"

Fear flashed briefly across Dean's features, before it was quickly buried. "Nothing happened."

"**Enough** happened, Dean. More than any kid should have to endure."

Dean pulled him back into a firm hug then, effectively ending the conversation as Sam worked hard to prevent the tears from falling.


	13. Coming Up Roses ch 5

_Author's Note: So this chapter is short, just wanted to give y'all something. I also wanted to say to all of those who think that Dean was abused as a child…I'll never tell. I wanted to bring it up but I didn't want to make this story about abuse but rather about all the little things that made Dean the way he is. So this story is entirely from Sam's point of view, so y'all only know what he knows and Dean would deny it to his grave. But don't worry, much will be revealed._

Sam didn't allow the tears gathered in his eyes to fall. They weren't his tears to cry, not if Dean couldn't mourn his own lost innocence. He did allow Dean to pull him back down onto the bed, though, clung to his older brother as he laid his head on Dean's chest, his forehead resting against Dean's jaw. He allowed Dean's soothing caresses to lull him into sleep.

He dreamt of fire and woke up gasping and rigid. Fortunately, both he and Dean had shifted during the night, Dean now lying on his stomach beside Sam, far enough away that Sam's nightmare had not woken the elder Winchester.

Almost without conscious intent, Sam shifted closer, curling his own long form around Dean's outstretched one. He didn't want to wake Dean, but he couldn't keep a hand from reaching out to rest on the small of Dean's naked back.

Because despite the familiar nature of his dream, this one had been different. This time when Sam had opened his eyes in his dream, it had not been Jessica on the ceiling, staring at him with wide, pained eyes, not her blood that had dripped down onto him…It had been Dean.

Sam had seen Dean in his dream, his brother pinned to the stained ceiling of any number of motels that Sam had stared up at in his lifetime. It had been Dean's great big eyes that had looked down at him with love and pain and courage and regret, Dean's blood that Sam had been stained with too many times already. In this new dream, Sam had watched as Dean had burst into flame, the green of his eyes shining like emeralds against the red and orange and yellow surrounding him.

Sam would never forget Jessica, certainly never forget the way she had died, but in some terrible way, she had been responsible for the state of his present. If she hadn't died, who knew if he would have ever spoken to Dean again? He could have gone his whole life without Dean, without _this_, this love that seemed both as spine-meltingly exhilarating as jumping off a building and as comfortable as the ever-elusive 'home' that Sam had always pined for. Dean was home to Sam and he should have known it all along.

It was also Jessica's death that had taught Sam not to take Dean for granted. Jessica had taught him what it was not to just be in love, but to be in a relationship. But she had also taught him what loss was.

He had been too harsh that day when he had told Dean he couldn't understand Sam's loss. Too quick to judge, too busy wallowing in his own self-pity. Again.

Dean was intimately aware of loss. Dean understood what it was to have something that you depended on, someone you thought could never leave, be gone, just like that, in an instant. Sam had never had a mother, never knew what it was to miss her.

Sam had grown up with an unshakeable foundation, Dean and Dad, sometimes battered or absent, but alive. Despite that Sam had grown up with the fear of the supernatural, more fear than kids should grow up with, he had had that foundation that kids needed to develop. Though Sam had worried that Dad wouldn't come back one day, he hadn't understood loss to know what the loss of Dad would really be like.

Dean's foundation had been rocked, splintered and cracked. He understood loss.

Dean knew what it was to live in fear that anyone, everyone else could be taken away just as easily. No wonder, Dean had attachment issues, no wonder he didn't like to be alone. And all anyone had ever done was leave Dean. John and Sam had treated him like a dog, confident that he would always forgive them, always love them unconditionally, always be there for them.

Just because he had to, because he needed Dean, needed to be close to the other hunter, Sam laid his head down on Dean's shoulder blade, arms going around the other man, knowing that it would wake Dean.

On cue, Dean woke and started to lift himself up, only to realize that that would dislodge Sam. The elder hunter, sank back into the mattress, but Sam curled his arms tighter around the smaller man and pulled Dean closer.

Getting the message, Dean turned in the circle of long arms, allowed himself to be pulled tightly against Sam's chest, let Sam take whatever comfort he needed.

"You ok?" Dean's soft, concerned voice, usually reserved for children or Sam or Bobby or John, at least before John had…

"Yeah," Sam replied just as quietly. He knew that Dean knew better than to take Sam at his word, but Dean also knew when not to push. The elder man just settled into the uncomfortably tight embrace.

Sam thought that it really wasn't surprising, really he should have been expecting the dream. The last two years had been a series of close calls, and surely it was just Sam's subconscious working out his fear that this too would be taken away. Still, it had been awfully vivid.

-- -- -- --

The next morning, the sunlight woke Sam long before any alarm. He hadn't slept well even with Dean snuggled tight and he knew that Dean hadn't slept well in such confinement. And he couldn't get up without waking the other man.

Dean was grumpy and tired, so Sam let him have the shower first. Again while Sam had showered, Dean had gone for coffee and breakfast, biscuit sandwiches this time. Dean was fairly quiet, less than his usual whirlwind of energy, of comments and jokes and complaints and laughter and randomness.

Sam didn't know whether Dean's behavior was because of Sam's nightmare or because of their destination that morning. They were headed to the victim's school, to find out if the teens had been depressed or whether their deaths had been something more than suicide. Of course, it was also Dean's old high school…

_Any suggestions, comments on what Sam will discover about Dean there, about what Dean was like in high school? Sorry this was short, but though the rest of the fic is planned in my head, the high school bit is still hazy. I'll have it up as soon as possible though._


	14. Coming Up Roses ch 6

_Author's Note: So despite that not many of you had suggestions, the gist seems to be that y'all would like Dean to be smarter than Sam thought. Well, I can't make him a genius cuz that would be unbelievable so instead I kinda made him into my own older sister. Thanks so much for the reviews and keep them coming! Please!! I'll write faster, or at least try to…_

_To the anonymous reviewer: It is a great compliment that you think my explanation of events in the show fit. That is what I have been trying to do, simply expound on what the show gave us. As to the difference in their sizes, I think the clothes they wear are purposefully misleading but every time that they are naked or in that episode Fulson Prison Blues, Dean suddenly looked so much smaller and Sam bigger. I think that Jenson simply has a smaller frame, more compact though probably still heavy. But I can attest that you can perform that move with a person bigger than yourself, because you're just standing up and dropping them. As to the bottoming, there will not be a lot of Sam bottoming in this fic for reasons that will unfortunately not be explained until the very end. If you're desperate for a preview, PM me. Thanks again!!_

Dean led the way into the high school, ready and willing to face whatever awaited him there. Just another piece of the puzzle that made up the elder Winchester boy, no matter how much Dean complained or didn't want to do something, he always approached each situation with courage, with what Sam wanted to identify as confidence. It was hard even now for Sam to understand how Dean could think so little of himself.

They were wearing their suits again. Those suits were getting a lot of use and not just on this case. They made their way into the principal's office and Sam was unable to resist a little ribbing of his older brother since it seemed to be so seldom that Sam had the upper hand.

"Well I'm sure this part of the school looks familiar, huh Dean?"

"Bite me." But Dean's reply had little to no bite itself. The older man was in fact smiling as if going to the principal's office was a badge of honor in Dean's eyes. It probably was.

The principal, though, seemed not to remember Dean, but Sam didn't have a chance to ask whether Dean had recognized the man. They were quickly showed to the office of the math teacher, a little old man who looked a little bit like those pictures of Einstein that everyone knows. Except this man seemed frailer, leaner.

The man's name was Dr. Sanford and he recognized Dean immediately.

"Dean Winchester! Good to see you, m'boy."

Sam was watching Dean's face, otherwise he would have missed the almost-grimace that passed over Dean's face before it was replaced with a look of surprised delight. The happiness didn't look the least bit fake, regardless though.

The tiny man stood up and Dean moved immediately to help him, placing his hand under the man's elbow until Dr. Sanford was steady. Then they shook hands, the teacher using both hands.

"And a Federal Agent, too? You know what? I'm not surprised, not a bit. You're probably very good, always were a problem solver."

Sam stepped forward to shake the man's hand himself, before Dean was helping the teacher to sit again. It was the second person in this town that had been only too willing to believe that Dean really was a Fed, who thought that it _fit_. Sam was reminded of his own recent musings that Dean would make a good cop.

Dean conveyed an air of authority that would suit the job well, able to bluff with the best of them even if he had no idea what was going on. Even as a teen, in fact even before, people could tell that Dean was well-trained, that he wasn't the average awkward teenager searching for his niche in life. Dean's movements were purposeful, his mannerisms crisp, fluid.

And Dr. Sanford was right, Dean was a problem solver. He was great at seeing past the unnecessary information, cutting to the important stuff and following clues to their logical conclusion.

Just like before, Sam was given only the most cursory of attention before the math teacher's attention was once again on the elder hunter. And Dean was still smiling, that real wide open smile that Sam loved to see on the other man's face.

The two men took seats in chairs that turned out to be uncomfortably small, bringing memories back to Sam of much time spent squeezing his tall frame into similarly small desks in high school. Dean opened his mouth to begin with the questions for their investigation, but the elderly man kept talking as the elderly often do, telling their opinions and reminiscences to whomever will listen.

"I'm glad to see that you have realized your potential, Dean. You really were very smart, well at math and sciences anyway. I do seem to remember Mrs. Taylor wanting to strangle you for your antics in her English class."

Both Dean and the teacher laughed, making Sam feel a little out of the loop.

"I seem to remember my grades not reflecting your confidence in my ability, Dr. Sanford."

And there it was again, right on time. Another self-deprecating, insecure comment making an appearance, just when Sam had convinced himself that it didn't exist, that Dean really was as self-confident as he appeared…

"Aw, come now son. In class you always knew the answer, never raised your hand or did your homework, but when I called on you, you always had the right answer. Figured it out on the spot, simply by logic. Came natural to you. You just psyched yourself out on the tests. You were just so certain that you couldn't do it, that you were stupid…"

The old man shook his head, as if unable to believe that Dean could be so insecure. Sam wanted to tell the man 'welcome to the club', welcome to the conundrum that was his brother, sure and unsure, confident and scared, all at the same time.

Yeah, Sam was definitely starting to like this man. Now he had proof, evidence that Dean really was smarter than he appeared, smarter than he let on. Dean always made out like Sam was the only smart one, tried to act like it didn't matter because Dean was the 'pretty' one, which Sam was secure enough to admit was the truth.

They just weren't smart in the same way, their intelligences as different as their looks. Sam had no head for numbers, had to study and enjoyed time spent in the library looking through texts, learning things from books, learning from other people. Dean needed to learn by experience, would rather derive the formula than memorize it.

"Yeah, well, doesn't matter now, does it?" Sam was only half listening as Dean started to ask the man about Ted Roth, who like Dean, was a math and sciences kind of guy.

Sam heard the hidden meaning in those words. Dean's future was over, maybe it had been for a long time, but now…Dean was legally dead and if he weren't, the police and the Feds would want to arrest the elder hunter.

Next the old man pointed the brothers in the direction of the classroom of the hated English teacher. Dean hesitated outside the door steeling himself for what they both assumed would be some harsh reprimands.

"Dean Winchester, I had heard that you were in town," the woman said standing. She was older but still sturdy, capable, kept her hair brunette despite her age. Dean was wearing the fake smile that overly enthused one where his eyes were still showing his dismay.

"Mrs. Taylor, so nice to see you again."

The woman's features tightened, hardened, obviously immune to Dean's charms.

"Don't try to sugar me up, you should remember that doesn't work on me. I'm just glad to see that you reached your potential."

And that was the second time that someone said the word potential. Sam admitted that it was a teacher word to use, but it was also a pattern that showed that Dean was more than what he seemed.

"Really, because at the time, it seemed like you would have been happier if I had dropped out altogether."

"Dean, don't say such things. I never wanted you to drop out. I was frustrated with your behavior. You were disruptive, distracting the other students and not doing the readings…It was just such a shame, such a waste."

"Oh, don't give me this 'potential' stuff. I heard plenty of it then."

"But it's true. You gave up, always telling me that it didn't matter what dead white men said a hundred years ago, complaining that it wasn't 'useful'. But every once in a while one of your rants would contain something so insightful…I know your family situation was difficult…"

Again Dean stiffened at the mere suggestion of someone speaking ill of his family, but the woman bravely continued.

"Now, now, I'm not going to say anything negative, but you were just so uninterested in your own future, always thinking of your little brother and his needs. You were always so proud of him and his accomplishments. You compared yourself to him and always found your own skills lacking, never seeing all the things that you were great at."

Dean was silent, looking down at his hands which were clasped in his lap, at a loss for words apparently. Finally, he chanced a look up, eyes open and exposed, lips pursing as if moving them would make the right thing to say suddenly spring to his lips. And then he smiled, that 'I'm insignificant so why are we having this conversation' smile and the green eyes closed, hiding the hunter's feelings away.

"Well, Sam did go to Stanford, but really, we're here to talk about Steven Beaumont. We heard that you were close to him, helping him with…"

Sam took out his own note book again, tried to act like he was paying attention. He knew that Dean had slipped Stanford into the conversation because his brother really was proud of him. No matter how much Sam's leaving had hurt Dean, the elder hunter couldn't completely stifle the pleasure he got from Sam being happy.

_More revelations and lots of angst to come. Nobody mentioned the dream…_


	15. Coming Up Roses ch 7

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad that y'all think my imagining of Dean at school was somewhat in character and believable. To Vicky: a special thanks for reviewing. And to the anonymous reviewer: Your glowing praise is making me blush. No seriously, thanks for taking the time to comment. And you are right, Jenson is not at all a small man, Jared just happens to be 'gigantor', which personally I think is pretty funny on the show. Nobody wants to be smaller than the little brother they're supposed to protect. _

_Again not a whole lot happening in this chapter, but the angst is coming in the next chapter which is a little dark. Hopefully y'all will stick with me, I'm working up to a point!_

So they were pretty certain that it was a haunting. Not a single person they had spoken to had ever suspected that any of the five teens was depressed or suicidal, so unless this was a case of the biggest coincidence ever…there was something going on.

So they cross-examined what all the teens had done in the week prior to their death and came up with a disturbing similarity. All five teens had visited one of the Erickson girls at their house exactly two days prior to the deaths. The Erickson's had five daughters who were apparently very pretty.

Unfortunately they couldn't discern anything about the house that would want the boys dead. No one had ever died in the house and a poltergeist wouldn't be able to infect a person or follow the teens home. So it was a spirit, they just hadn't figured out whose.

So they were headed to the local watering hole. Dean always wanted to go to a bar and Sam really couldn't stop him because people talk and people hang out in bars…Sam hated to admit it but Dean often managed to get a lot of useful information in bars.

Of course recently Sam had discovered a whole new reason to loathe going, but he wasn't about to let Dean go by himself, for many reasons. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dean, exactly; Sam just knew that the elder hunter didn't have a whole lot of experience saying no.

Dean was too beautiful for his own freaking good. They hadn't been there five minutes, were, in fact, still waiting at the bar to get a couple of beers when Sam heard a very high-pitched and most assuredly, feminine squeal come from behind them. Dean had barely managed to turn around before he was bombarded with an armful of bubbly, busty, brunette. And Sam knew what Dean was referring to when Dean talked about her tiny skirts.

"Tiffany?"

"Oh my God, Dean! Is that really you? You look…great."

That was definitely unmitigated lust in her voice. Sam had to wonder if it ever got old, the way that girls, that everyone really, looked at Dean, like he was a piece of meat. If there ever was a guy that could sympathize with being objectified, it was Dean.

Of course, Dean just seemed to eat it up, like he understood perfectly that his looks were the only thing about him that was worthy of attention.

Sam couldn't help the little bit of possessiveness that rose up in him. He wanted to pull Dean against him, make it clear that Dean was taken. He wanted to make all these people understand that Dean was smart and heroic and caring and not at all _just_ a pretty face, while at the same time keeping them far away from his beautiful brother.

But he squelched the inclination pretty easily. Sam knew that Dean loved him, would never do anything to purposefully hurt him and they couldn't afford to make a scene. He was mostly content to watch Dean work his charm on a room, knowing that Dean would never be swayed from Sam's own arms.

Besides, _Tiffany_, and God, Sam just couldn't think her name without a touch of _something_ because she had touched Dean long before Sam had gotten the chance and it didn't matter that Sam had been twelve at the time, his jealousy didn't have to be logical, was shortly joined by an average looking man.

A man who very proprietarily slid his arm around Tiffany's waist.

"So Dean Winchester, your father finally let you out of the house, huh? Oh, I mean that dirty hotel room that you lived at."

Dean's eyes brightened but his smile never wavered. Sam's anger rose up as well but then his brain started working out the meaning of the man's words. 'Let Dean out', and Sam was much more involved in searching his memories to understand the put-down.

All first-born children complain that their younger siblings were allowed to do things at younger ages than they themselves were, but as Sam thought back, he realized that that was particularly true for Dean just not because of the usual reasons.

Dean was first and foremost responsible for Sam. He had to be there to walk Sam home, he had to be there to make sure that Sam completed the training, hell, Dean taught Sam practically everything that he knew about fighting and weapons. Dean didn't get to go out at night or go to parties because that would have left Sam at home, alone. Someone had to watch Sam and watch over him, make dinner and make sure Sam did his homework. Sam was still a preteen and someone had to be there for him.

Dean liked to think that he had been a party animal in high school but that was not the case. He hadn't joined sports teams or high school clubs, but he did wait for Sam outside Sam's soccer practice, pick Sam up after mathlete meetings.

Dean had managed to convince the occasional girl to come to their motel room, but since their motel had normally been in a bad area, that hadn't happened too frequently. Dean had managed to hook up, during school hours half the time, but really the teen had only gone out when Dad had been home.

When Dad had been available to watch Sam, Dean had taken full advantage, always going to some party with some girl. Those times had just kinda been few and far between. Dad had been usually busy and often absent.

As Sam had gotten older, a teenager himself, he had been occasionally allowed to go to a movie with friends or the mall, and Dean had gotten to go out those nights too, but both of them had to be home pretty early, earlier than most other teenagers or young adults.

Dean had followed Dad's orders on what he and Sam had been allowed to do, often getting heat from both sides, Dad giving orders on what was appropriate and Sam complaining about his lack of freedom. Like it was Dean's fault or that Dean could do anything about it. And Dean had taken the heat if Sam would come home late. Both Dad and Dean had agreed that it was Dean's responsibility to make sure Sam was home on time, that Sam was safe.

The same with the hunts. Dean had begun to go on more and more hunts, once Sam had been old enough to be left alone, but Sam had never been left alone for more than one night, spent usually in the car.

For as long as Sam could remember, and really Sam couldn't remember a time prior to when he had pressured Dean into telling him Dad's secret, he would be left at Pastor Jim's house for a couple weeks in the summer so Dean could get more practice.

Even after Sam had begun hunting, there were plenty of hunts that he hadn't gone on. Hunts that their father had decided were too dangerous or disturbing for the youngest son, the baby. And Dean had known that Sam didn't want to go, that Sam wanted to study or read, and he would suggest to Dad that Sam wasn't needed, that he was too young. Dean had even promised to clean all the weapons for a month once, so that Sam could have a girl over. Of course, Sam hadn't done anything but study with the girl…

Dean was busy charming half the girls in the bar and _Tiffany_ was still eying the elder hunter, which apparently her boyfriend or whatever took offense to. The man's tone was short and full of disdain when he took aim at Dean with another comment.

"Right, I forgot that girls fawn over you and your lips, those 'fuck me' lips. Tell me, Dean, do guys feel the same about them?" The man sneered.

Ouch. Now Sam began to stand up. It wasn't the first time that someone had said that about Dean's lips but Sam knew that his brother hated it, 'fuck me' lips, cocksucker lips, porn star lips, Dean had heard it all. Never mind that Sam had thought it himself. And of course in response, Dean pursed his lips in frustration which just freaking emphasized their fullness.

When they were growing up, Dean hadn't always been happy to be the 'prettier' brother. Dean had been almost too pretty. Even though it had often gotten the boy sympathy from adults, women in particular, it had also gotten him teased a lot as a child. Sam thought now that it had probably made Dean even tougher than he would have been, as if Dean were trying to denounce the idea of him as weak or fragile in any way despite his feminine looks.

And John had always looked the other way when kids or adults commented on Dean's beauty. Sam had always assumed it was because their father hadn't wanted to talk about Mary, but maybe it was also the memory of John's own drunken words concerning the appearance of his firstborn.

Even worse, Sam knew that the barb about guys had hit a little too close to home this time. But surprisingly, Dean didn't get angry, didn't stand and start throwing punches. In fact, Dean smiled again, those full lips stretched wide like the cat that ate the canary. Dean fought fire with fire.

The elder Winchester ignored the man and turned back to the surrounding women, turning on the charm full force, enough to practically melt a full city block. The women, _Tiffany_ included, were simply entranced, practically falling out of their clothes for him.

Sam knew that Dean was using the women's attention, using it to compensate. Dean had always used girls and their attention to compensate for many things.

Sam thought of the first time in his memory that someone had commented on his older brother's looks in front of Dean.

Dean had been thirteen and they had gone to Ohio to meet with another hunter, Sam couldn't remember his name, but the man had had information that John had needed. Dean still had those huge lips and smooth skin decorated with a few freckles, his hair blonder and longer, if not by a whole lot.

The hunter had looked down upon the two boys who had been holding hands with evident derision. The man had gripped Dean's chin, forcing Dean to look up and Sam had known that Dean hated that, hated being treated like a child, being touched like the man had the _right_ to do so.

After taking a good long look at Dean's feminine features, the man had laughed and told John that 'this one' was too pretty to be a hunter. But the hunter had been serious when he told John that Dad should 'watch out' for Dean. Sam had had no idea what the hunter had meant at the time.

Sam hadn't understood later either when Dean had snuck into the kitchen with their teenaged waitress while their Dad had been engrossed in the research the man had given him.

In high school, Dean had used girls in a different way, as an 'in'. It was difficult to make friends. Boys were often territorial, competitive around Dean, seeing him as a threat to their nicely ordered existence. But girls always flocked to him. Having a girl had given Dean someone to hang out with, had gotten him invited to parties on the nights that he had gotten to go out.

In some ways having a short physical relationship with a girl was safer than trying to make friends. With a friend, there was always guilt at not being able to explain their life, lies. And there was the bitter knowledge that he would have to leave them behind.

With a girl, or a one night stand, Dean didn't have to worry too much about lying because the girl was mostly there for his physical charms. He simply got as much pleasure out of the experience as possible and then moved onto the next town, the next girl.

Because Dean really was a hedonist at heart. He was going to get whatever enjoyment out of life that he could. This was his life and he accepted it and in some ways enjoyed it, enjoyed the hunt, the challenge, the mystery, and the certain knowledge that someone was safe because of him. If one night stands were all that he was going to get, and Sam knew that in some ways Dean thought they were all that he deserved, then he was going to accept and enjoy those too.

And if Dean also used the girls' attention to take the place of the attention that he didn't receive from his family that was understandable, and if Dean used those caresses to make up for the affection that their father never gave…

And now Dean flirted to assert his manhood, to make certain that he still could, that girls didn't look at him and think 'queer'.

Sam knew what Dean was doing but for some reason, it was making the younger hunter inordinately, irrationally angry.


	16. Coming Up Roses ch 8

_Author's Note: So there is some action in this chapter, and a whole lotta angst. Thanks for the reviews and please keep them coming. _

Sam didn't know when the small amount of jealousy he had felt at Dean flirting had become this all-encompassing anger. He sat alone at the high bar table, clutching the pint glass of his now warm beer like a lifeline.

He could practically feel it under his skin, pumping through his veins and rolling off of him in waves.

A tall blonde had pressed herself full length along Dean's side, her hand wandering dangerously close to his brother's rear. Dangerous because suddenly Sam had had enough.

He stood and strode through the cluster of people who had surrounded Dean, parting them like the waters of the red sea and not caring that he was being rude.

Sam didn't touch Dean because if he touched the elder man he would drag Dean out.

"Dean, come on. We should go."

_Tiffany's _boyfriend chimed in immediately. "What? Is he your girlfriend?"

Sam was a second away from punching the guy in the face and telling him that _yes, Dean and I are together_, but, fortunately, Dean acted first.

Dean simply leaned closer, across the table toward the jerk and spoke calmly, "No, but _we_ actually have a job to do. You know, people to save."

It was a great parting shot and Sam could clearly see that many of the women would have been more than willing to have taken Dean home with them. Whereas normally this thought would have amused him, made him even more appreciative that he would be the only one getting into Dean's pants that night, this time, it just made Sam want to slam Dean into the nearest hard surface.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, they had walked the block to the motel and Sam just managed to stop himself from pushing Dean along to hurry the walk up.

But as soon as they were inside the door of their room, Sam pounced. It was with real force that Sam pushed Dean back against the wall, hard enough for Dean to groan as his head impacted. But Sam's mouth was there to swallow the noise even before Dean had finished making the sound.

Sam's teeth bit hard at Dean's bottom lip, like he was punishing the other man.

Hard enough that Dean jerked his face to the side, cursing, "Dammit, Sam! What's gotten into you?"

Sam's mind barely registered the protest. Dean belonged to him, how dare the elder man even look at someone else, let that girl touch what belonged to Sam.

His lips moved to Dean's neck, moving against the skin there as he spoke. "Need you, God, Dean, I need you so bad."

The words were not spoken as a reply to Dean's question, but Dean took them as such, gentling the hands that Sam only now noticed were gripping his biceps.

Sam took the opportunity to pull Dean away from the wall enough to push the jacket off his brother's shoulders, then stripping off his t-shirt without pause.

When Dean's hands moved to Sam's own shirt to reciprocate, Sam's anger surged again. He pushed Dean back against the wall again with an angry shout, "No!"

Even in the almost dark, Sam could see the glint of Dean's eyes as his brother looked up at him. He didn't stop to wonder at what emotions might be in that look though, instead he attached his mouth to the sensitive skin of Dean's neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises. Sam kept up the assault even as Dean bucked once in surprised pain and cursed again.

His hands moved to Dean's belt, unbuckling it quickly to get to the fly of the jeans beneath.

"Sam, just slow down a little."

But Sam didn't want to slow down, he wanted Dean now. He had to have the other man, needed to possess Dean, to mark the other hunter.

Sam's own sex was uncomfortably confined in his khakis and begging to be buried in Dean's beautiful body. Dean had denied him before but tonight he was not going to take no for an answer, tonight he was going to take what he wanted.

Pushing down Dean's jeans, Sam didn't wait for his brother to kick off the offending garment, instead he used a hand to the back of Dean's neck to drag the man the short distance to the bed. With his feet still trapped, Dean flopped ungainly onto the mattress when Sam pushed him.

He didn't wait for Dean to regain his balance. Sam was on the man in a second, pressing his forearm down between the elder hunter's shoulder blades, his elbow digging in cruelly. He leant over, using his weight to hold the smaller man down, while his other hand unzipped his own fly.

Sam pressed his cock to the entrance of his brother's body, took a breath, readying himself…

That was when he finally noticed that Dean was rigid, nervous. Dean was naked, trapped under Sam's still clothed form, a horrific homage to their first time in that stone circle. But Dean didn't want this.

The anger, that furious possessiveness just disappeared in between one breath and the next. Sam sat back on his heels, covering his face with his hands for a moment, before he reached down and pulled Dean up and around, into a strong embrace.

Dean was breathing hard and Sam didn't need to look at his brother's sex to know that the panting wasn't arousal induced.

"Goddammit, Dean." Sam's words whispered along Dean's hair.

Because that was the worst of it, no way that his brother would have been that easy to subdue. Dean hadn't fought back. Dean was going to let him…

He had been going to rape his own brother. What was going on?

After a moment of staying rigid in Sam's embrace, Dean relaxed and the pace of his breathing slowed.

Then the elder brother huffed a chuckle. "You like to play rough, I can handle it. Just give me some warning next time."

Sam shook his head, not knowing what to say, how to tell his brother that _it wasn't him_. He just squeezed Dean's naked form tighter.

With embarrassment, Sam started to pull Dean's boxers back up.

"Let's just go to sleep."

Dean nodded, sitting and removing his boots and jeans. Sam was well aware that Dean didn't look at him as Sam stood to undress. For the first time since their relationship began, the brothers wore boxers to bed.

But despite their discomfort, Sam couldn't help plastering himself to Dean's back as he got back into the bed. Dean might have slept better without the man who had attempted to rape him trying to cuddle, but Sam needed it. And, of course, Dean gave him whatever he needed. He didn't want to hold that kind of power over his brother, but he supposed he always had.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam himself had a difficult time finding sleep that night. He went over and over the events of that evening, wondering what it was that had infected him, what had caused him to attack Dean.

Unfortunately it could have been anything, anyone. Sam remembered how the doctor at the asylum had touched him and brought all of his frustrated rage at Dean to the surface. And he was well aware that demons could have any number of powers that he didn't know about.

It had seemed to come on so slowly. He couldn't be sure where he had been when it started or who he had been with.

And then of course there was another option. It could always be something inside him, something that had always been there, the something that John had warned Dean about.

Something changed in the room suddenly, literally in the blink of Sam's eyes. It was a small change, but it seemed as if the colors had suddenly become muted, covered in a sepia tone.

And there was someone or something in the room with them. Sam reached for the knife under the pillow, forgetting that Dean hadn't had time to put it there.

He sat up then, shouting for his brother, "Dean!"

That was what gave it away. Dean didn't move, slept on as if he hadn't heard his brother's shout. Dean normally woke up at the slightest of sounds, trained since that terrible night when as a four year old he had gotten out of bed to check on his baby brother.

"It's a dream." The voice was harsh, scratchy.

Sam got his first look at the demon that had destroyed his whole life as a man with yellow eyes stepped out of the shadows that fell near the room's curtained window. He was short, shorter than Sam, shorter than Dean, his face lined with wrinkles. In short the man had none of the characteristics that Sam would imagine that demons would choose in their _hosts_.

Sam threw back the covers and hopped over Dean to get out of the bed. He was only wearing his boxers but he didn't feel vulnerable or exposed. He kept himself between the demon and his brother.

Because now that he was finally faced with the thing, his thoughts were not on revenge, not for his mother or Jess or even Dad. His only thought was to protect Dean. He would not, could not let another lover, another loved one be taken away.

"What did you do to me?"

"Aw, come now, Sammy boy. Have a seat."

Cautiously Sam waited until the man had taken a seat before moving forward himself, pulling a chair around to keep himself between Dean and the demon.

"I just gave you a preview of some of the terrible things that could befall your precious brother. Besides it wasn't me that hurt Dean was it? It's you, Sammy, it's always been you."

Faster than Sam's eyes could follow, the demon had moved forward, pressing his hand to Sam's forehead.

Suddenly Sam was no longer in the sepia toned motel room. It was another cheap motel room that he was looking at.

There was a man in this other motel room. It took Sam a moment to realize that the man was a younger version of John.

John looked rough, unshaven, his clothes rumpled. And he was holding a baby, a child that looked to be about a year old, a child that was obviously Sam.

As Sam watched, John picked up the phone and wandered over to the wall of the motel that had been turned into a kind of message board. It was full of research on the supernatural. Sam never heard to whom John spoke on the phone, because at that moment the door opened and a small boy with a backpack and a cast on his right forearm came in.

The boy was Dean, blonde hair that obviously John hadn't bothered to cut in a while, big green eyes, full lips. John barely acknowledged the boy, turning his head to make sure it was his boy then returning to his conversation.

The boy set his pack down by the door, and wandered closer to his father. Dean stared up at John and Sammy, begging with his eyes to be acknowledged, to be held like Sammy was.

After a few moments, Dean wandered over to the kitchen area and scrounged in the cupboards until he found a half a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. The boy, who couldn't have been more than five or six, managed to make himself a sandwich despite the cumbersome cast and then sat at the table to eat it.

The green eyes never left John though, despite that Dean didn't say a word. He watched as John finished his conversation and came over to the table. John opened the refrigerator and got out a jar of baby food.

Sitting at the table with Sammy on his lap, John began spooning the food into the baby's mouth, getting frustrated as Sammy was more interested in playing than eating, whacking his chubby fists on the table top and spitting most of the food out.

"Come on, Sammy. Eat it, just a little. That's it."

Eventually, John stood up again, carrying Sammy to the motel's bathroom and presumably cleaning the kid up.

Sam watched as little Dean stood too. Slowly the boy pushed a chair over to the kitchen sink and wet some paper towels. Then he climbed onto the chair that John had been sitting in and cleaned up the mess that the baby had made. After putting the chairs back, Dean waited for his father to come back out into the living area.

John sighed as he came back out. With a kiss to the baby's forehead, he laid Sammy on a blanket that had been laid out on the floor in front of the tv, surrounded by pillows. Dean went to Sam immediately, kneeling beside the baby.

Scrubbing his face, John went back into the kitchen and got a sippy cup of water and a box of Cheerios. He laid these down on the floor as well.

Finally, John spoke to Dean. "Hey, sport, Daddy's gotta go out for just a little while. Watch Sammy, make sure he doesn't get into anything. You know where the phone is?"

Dean nodded, his eyes flicking to portable phone that John had placed beside the TV, higher than little Sammy could reach.

Sam watched John turn on the tv before walking out the front door. It was then that Sam realized how quiet the whole scene had been, Dean had been silent and John preoccupied.

And this obviously wasn't the first time that John had left Dean to care for the younger child. Dean watched his father go with wounded eyes, before the little boy turned back to the surprisingly happy and giggling baby on the floor.

Dean smiled down. The smile was small and sad, but the baby grinned wider and clapped his hands together.

Dean's smile got wider in response. Sam watched them play, Dean tickling the baby's tummy until the baby laughed. Little Sammy was more talkative than Dean was, if only just saying Dean's name over and over again. Little Dean said nothing, simply made noises to go along with his tickling attack.

Then the scene changed.


	17. Coming Up Roses ch 9

_Author's Note: Sorry about the delay!! Not only did schoolwork intrude on my time, but also this chapter turned out to be difficult to write. I kept coming up with and then rejecting ideas for flashbacks. I'm still not sure about this chaper but I figured I had kept y'all waiting long enough. The browbeating, I got from Kripke's commentary on the third season, you know the episode where Dean talks to himself in his dream, though a lot of lines over the three seasons were obviously leading up to believe that.. _

_Also I added some detail to a few parts in the previous chapters and made some revisions. Specifically in the last chapter I realized that my timeline was a little off so I made some adjustments. _

Suddenly Sam was looking at trees, the woods at night. He heard the yellow-eyed demon's voice, floating to him as if over a very long distance, though Sam couldn't see the possessed man.

"You were the baby, Sammy. You got what little attention John spared from the hunt, while Dean got nothing."

As the voice faded, Sam was left with just the sounds of the woods at night. But then he heard footsteps approaching.

Two men were walking closer. Again, Sam recognized the second man as a younger John, and after a moment, Sam recognized the other man as a younger Caleb. The two men were obviously on a hunt, laden down with various weapons and moving cautiously, two sets of eyes looking for anything suspicious.

John stopped, turned and knelt down and only then did Sam see Dean's tiny, child-form again.

The boy was wide-eyed, bundled up in a heavy coat, but without gloves. Sam didn't need to be a genius to guess at why.

John handed a gun over to the small boy.

"Now Dean, remember to stay back, no matter what you hear or see. Don't shoot unless I specifically tell you to."

Dean nodded, but still looked frightened, those huge eyes luminescent in the light from the moon. Still Sam could clearly see the determination and courage there too.

Apparently so could John.

"You've got to be strong for Sammy. Got to learn to protect your little brother right?"

This time Dean answered in actual words, few though they were. "Yes, sir."

John stood and Sam saw that smile that had confused the eight year old Dean when he had told Sam the story of learning to shoot for the first time. John's smile was both proud and grim. Sam had a good guess as to why, John didn't like subjecting Dean to this. He knew that Dean was too young for such horror and frightened that Dean would be hurt again.

Still John was proud of Dean, proud of Dean's courage, of his selflessness and willingness to protect and take care of his younger brother. But Sam could understand why a young child would be confused by the expression that seemed to radiate sadness despite Dean's best efforts to follow orders.

He watched as Caleb took the lead through the trees, John moving slower to keep an eye on his boy.

Sam was watching Dean so keenly that he missed the appearance of the monster, hearing first the sound of Caleb grunting as the man grappled with the thing. Sam focused on the other hunter in time to see the Caleb thrown away by a scaled, reptile-like beast walking on two legs, a chupacabra.

John entered the fray and Sam split his attention between his father and his brother. Dean was a natural, keeping quiet, careful not to draw his father's attention away from the fight with a scared outburst like any other child would. Dean raised the weapon with steady hands, keeping his finger off the trigger…but Sam knew that the boy was scared.

Dean's breath came in short staccato bursts as his eyes never left his father's struggling form, not even to blink. The boy flinched as John cried out, the beast's claws reaching their mark and digging into the man's arm.

With a roar, John rallied and managed to stick his own silver knife home in the scaly chest. Pushing the now limp monster away, John slumped. He was panting and catching his breath in the aftermath when a small boy walked up.

"I-its ok, Dad." It was John's turn this time to nod and he reached his good hand out to pat the boy's head once hesitantly.

Sam had often heard his brother say those words when they were growing up, sounding like they were both for John's benefit and Dean's own. But suddenly Sam understood what those words really meant, what Dean must have felt like when their father had gotten hurt on the hunt, physically or emotionally.

He understood how scared and protective Dean had been all those times. Mom had been ripped away in front of Dean's very eyes and now to see John, bruised and battered…the sight probably scared Dean much more than any threat to the boy himself would have.

"And all this for you, Sammy. So that Dean would be prepared to protect _you_. He was put through all this so that you didn't have to be, so that John would feel safe leaving his children in a hotel room alone."

The demon's voice washed over Sam again as the scene changed again. This time there were still woods, but it was daylight and there was a clearing where Sam could see a cabin, a small wooden structure that looked a lot like the cabins that the Winchester family had stayed in throughout their childhood. The only good part of staying in a cabin instead of a motel room is that sometimes the cabins were big enough that he and Dean didn't have to share a bed.

And in front of the cabin, there were people. John was there again, sitting on the cabin's back porch next to a five year old Sammy who was inexpertly kicking a soccer ball around. Never the hyper one, Sammy spent most of his childhood after the age of six trying to find a quiet place to read.

Dean was on the ground performing a drill recognizable to military men the world over probably. The boy did a push-up then hopped into a crouch to jump up with his arms above his head, only to drop back to the crouch and then hop back into a push-up position.

"You can jump higher than that, Dean. How are you going to protect your little brother if you can't even do the drill properly?"

Dean jumped higher in response, performing the moves with a precision and speed that would have put most college ROTC to shame.

Sam watched the exchange with growing horror. Dean was no more than nine years old and John was talking like he was expecting the boy to be as capable as an adult.

Of course, Sam had heard this kind of taunting insult before. Their father had often spoken to Dean that way, expecting nothing less than perfection from his firstborn and making it clear to Dean in a challenge. Like when they had hunted their first vampires and John had made those comments on the state of the Impala.

'Why don't you touch up your car, Dean' John had questioned in that offhand way that both seemed like he didn't care what Dean did and threatened dire consequences if Dean didn't shape up. 'I wouldn't have given her to you if you weren't gonna take care of her' like Dean was supposed to somehow keep the car from getting dirty while she were being driven all around creation. Never mind that Dean took better care of that car than most people did their pets.

Sam had simply been so involved in his own attempts to please their father that he hadn't noticed. But Sam had given up at about age eleven, decided that instead of trying to live up to John's expectations that he would try to get John to see his side of things, as if arguing would make the man see the benefits of straight A's and school clubs.

But Dean had spent his whole life being a hunter, trying to live up to what Sam now realized was unattainable. The years that Sam had spent in constant arguments with their father, Dean had spent that time being constantly admonished and browbeaten.

And, Sam had had Dean all those years ago. Dean's words of encouragement to keep him running those miles, to keep Sam trying, he had had Dean's patient instruction when their father had given up on Sam ever learning. Dean had had nothing but their father and Sammy running around and playing like Sam was certain Dean hadn't been able to play since the fire.

"Ok, enough. Go run. I want to see you inside in no less than eleven minutes, son. You were too slow on that last hunt."

Dean nodded, without air to spare on words and took off as John herded the five year old inside despite the kid's loud protests that it wasn't dark yet.

And then Sam was back in the motel room that he had started in. Except that he didn't remember them having brought in so much stuff…

On closer inspection, Sam realized that, in fact, the room was not the one in which he and Dean had checked into just the other day. But it was a room in the same motel.

Sam realized that it must be the room that they had stayed in the first time in this town just before a younger version of himself stomped angrily into the room.

This younger Sammy seemed to be about twelve, still round with baby fat, still shorter than his lean and muscular older brother. Dressed in sweats, it was obvious that they were coming in from training. No wonder Sammy was pissed.

"I don't care what Dad wants, Dean! I don't want to train!"

Sammy was yelling before he'd even cleared the doorframe. A teenaged Dean followed closely behind, clearly frustrated by his little brother's more frequent outspoken rants.

"Besides, he's not even here! He's never here, Dean!"

And that's what it had really started out as. Sam acting out like he had done as a toddler and Dean had had to go to school, the younger brother had simply wanted his father's attention and acknowledgment. He had wanted John to be proud of him for the things that he was good at.

Sammy had stopped in the middle of the small room, turning to face his brother so he could yell to Dean's face.

Dean stepped up to the smaller, chubbier boy with his hands outstretched, obviously intending to comfort his younger brother, saying, "I know he's late, Sam, but he'll be here soon…"

This time though, Sammy had swatted Dean's hands away before they could make contact.

"Don't, Dean. You can't fix this, you can't fix any of this!"

Sam flinched at his own words. He remembered this fight, remembered how angry and upset he had been. He had regretted the words afterward, had regretted turning away Dean's comfort, but he had been just discovering his independence. Sam had always been outspoken but twelve was when Sam had begun to despise their lifestyle. It was when he had begun pulling away from Dean who was always there in the small motel room, making Sam do the training, taking the phone calls from Dad, reminding Sam of everything that he couldn't and didn't want to be.

Course now Sam was looking at it from the other side. Sammy stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut to emphasize the only privacy the brothers had from one another. Sam watched as Dean's expression turned from shock, as if he couldn't believe that Sammy would turn on him, to something else, something darker and poignant and wretched, something that Sam couldn't remember seeing on Dean's face until Dad had disappeared. That look that said that Dean believed that he couldn't fix anything, that everything that he did was pointless.

Dean stared down at his hands like they had betrayed him, before dropping them to his sides and curling them into fists. Angry now himself, Dean stomped into the small kitchen area and got leftovers out of the refrigerator. He removed the foil from the plate and put it in the microwave, when the teen's own stomach growled angrily.

Putting a slender hand to his belly, Dean got a glass of water from the tap, draining it before flopping down on the couch and turning on the tv.

The only words the two brothers spoke after that were when Sam was just exiting the shower and Dean had informed him that "Dinner's in the microwave."

Sam hadn't wondered then why Dean wasn't eating with him. It had happened often enough before then that Sam had known what Dean would say, that he had had a big lunch at the garage, that he had gotten his precious fast food on the way home, taunting Sammy that the younger boy had to eat the chicken and mashed potatoes that Dean had fixed.

And he had never wondered why Dean never used that excuse when Dad was home. Sam had just figured that Dad would insist on them all eating together.

Now Sam knew the truth. They didn't steal from good hard working people. Credit card scams were one thing, a big, impersonal corporation, and hustling wasn't stealing, Dean always said he had to work for that money. It was a fine line that Dean had always tread very carefully, despite his devil-may-care attitude. So Dean had gone hungry.

Still Sam knew that the brush off had hurt Dean more than any hunger pain. Sam knew that he had rejected more and more of Dean's attempts as he had grown up. And Dean had become more and more hesitant to reach out, afraid of being rebuffed. Sam had never thought that Dean might have needed to give comfort as much as he had thought Sammy needed it.

And yet still, even without touch, Dean had comforted Sam, stood by him. Sam remembered when they had met up with their dad again, when Sam had had to explain about the visions. Dean had gotten up from the bed with their father and gone to stand beside Sam. Dean was messing around with something in the kitchen but the message had been clear. Dean had been standing with Sam, even against their father, protecting the younger man.

It made it all the more painful to remember that Sam had not always stood by Dean, had in fact, stood opposite the man on more than one occasion. Case in point when Dean had come to Stanford, Sam had unconsciously placed himself next to Jessica and opposite Dean. It had been subconscious but the message had been loud and clear to both brothers. 'Us' against 'them, and Sam had chosen 'them', deliberately making Dean an outsider, an intruder.

The demon's voice intruded on Sam's thoughts again. "Do I even need to mention all the times that Dean got _physically_ hurt because of you, Sammy?"

No he didn't. Sam remembered all too vividly all the times that Dean had been hurt, all the times that Dean had ended up in a hospital bed, pale and limp, still in a way that Dean never was.

Sam wouldn't soon forget the sight of Dean being tortured by the yellow-eyed demon in their father's body, blood pouring from his chest and dripping from his lips. Nor would he forget the sound of Dean's voice then. Sam had never heard that level of pain in Dean's voice before, had never heard Dean _plead_ before.

Sam still thought that it wasn't the pain that had made Dean plead; it was that the demon was using their _father_ to torture him.

And wasn't it ironic that the demon had given himself away by _complimenting_ Dean? It seemed that the demon acknowledged Dean's sacrifices more than his own family did.

Sam remembered that terrible car ride to the hospital, terrible even before they were hit by a semi. Dean's first thoughts, no matter how beat up he was, were always to go check on Dad, to check on Sam, but all Dad could think about was the demon.

John had barely even looked at Dean in the back seat while Sam had been barely able to keep his eyes off the rearview mirror to assure himself that Dean was still breathing.

Like when Dean had called John out for not calling when Dean was **dying **for god's sake. John had said he was sorry, like that would make up for it. It was almost like John had given up, had accepted that his eldest was never getting away from hunting, accepted that Dean was eventually going to be a willing sacrifice to this crazy crusade that John had started.

And that was another time that Sam didn't want to remember, the rawhead. Dean had been so weak. It was then that Sam had realized just how much he depended on the older man. Dean always kept a level head, always knew what to do, took charge no matter how dire the circumstances. When Sam was panicking and John was obsessed with the hunt, it was Dean who had the plan, Dean whose first priority was protecting his family.

It was a good thing that Dean wasn't as dumb as he made out or they all would have died a dozen times over.

And it was during the rawhead that Sam had really wished that their father had been there. Sam had wanted someone else to take responsibility, had wanted Dad to make everything ok, to save the day. Sam had wanted John to force Dean to take care of himself as time after time Dean had rebuffed his attempts to help the older man.

And that had hurt, that Dean's heart was barely pumping, that Dean was weak beyond Sam's ability to understand and still Dean wouldn't let him help.

"Just think of what _could_ befall him. Humans are so frail, for all Dean's strength, I gutted him like a fish last time."

And they were back in the room, the room that they had started in, with an adult Dean sleeping in the bed.

"What do you want?" Sam's voice was hard.

"If you don't want Dean hurt, you'll have to leave him, Sammy. You're too dangerous to be around. Besides all you've ever done is hurt that boy."

Sam gasped. It was too close to what he had been thinking since Jess had died, that he was cursed to lose the ones he loved, everyone who got close to him.

The demon had said last time that Jess and Mary had died because they had gotten in the way of his plans. And if anyone could be a wrench in the demon's plan, it was definitely Dean.

"Well, I'll leave you to think on it, Sammy. Just don't think too long, next time you might not be able to stop yourself."

And with those words Sam was gasping awake.


	18. Coming Up Roses ch 10

_Author's Note: Yeah I know I suck for the delay. I did want to say that in the show, the demon enters Sam's dreams, even once to show him the night that the YED fed baby Sammy demon blood. So I simply worked off of that. Thanks for sticking with this. Only a few more chapters and it will be done. _

Sam's arms tightened instinctually around the body in his arms as he fought to regulate his breathing after his rude awakening. He could tell that Dean had been woken too, but the elder man didn't immediately turn towards Sam.

And even though Sam knew that his brother was simply giving him a minute to get himself under control and loosen his grip, he couldn't help thinking that Dean was also trying to avoid looking at Sam.

But then Dean was turning towards Sam and asking the inevitable, "Ok, Sammy?" with nothing but concern in his deep, sleep-roughened voice.

Sam nodded, knowing that Dean would see the movement despite the darkness and turned to lie more on his back. Dean followed, turning onto his other side and reaching out a hand to gently brush across his brother's chest in a gesture of comfort.

"Really, Dean, it was just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

Nodding himself, Dean turned all the way so that he was lying on his stomach beside Sam who was stretched out on his back. Dean kept his arm draped over Sam's body and his face turned towards his brother. Sam couldn't help but turn his own face toward Dean, looking at the elder hunter as Dean fell quickly back to sleep.

Sam himself knew that sleep was not in his immediate future. He thought back over all that he had seen, all that the demon had shown him. He knew without a doubt that the demon had shown him the truth, but even if the yellow-eyed bastard hadn't seen them as children, the images were close enough to the truth.

The question was more on what Sam should do now. Should he leave his brother, _could _he?

Of course, Sam had left his brother before, several times in fact, but that was _before_, when Sam didn't know what the weight of Dean felt like in his arms, before he had seen the staggering amount of vulnerability that Dean was hiding under the hard and sarcastic shell.

Besides if Sam left, Dean was sure to follow. But if Sam didn't tell Dean about the dream, if he acted like he _wanted_ to leave Dean, to end their relationship, to go back to school…

Dean would still check up on him, but maybe that would be enough distance to save the elder man's life.

Would Dean be better off without Sam? Sam's guilt said yes, but he knew that Dean's answer would be much different. It was too late to change the past, to change the forces that had caused Sam to become the focal point of Dean's whole life, the base on which Dean built his view of his own worth, of his own self-confidence.

Sam had been serious when he had thanked Dean for always being there, when Sam couldn't count on anyone else. Even when Sam had hurt Dean.

Even when Sam had left the first time, for Stanford. Dean hadn't turned on Sam, not like their dad. Sam had seen that his brother had been hurt, upset by the decision, no matter how Dean had tried to hide it.

But Dean wanted Sam to be happy and healthy no matter the cost to himself. Dean had questioned Sam's decision, but never Sam, had still helped Sam, a ride to the bus and money to get started.

Sam knew that Dean felt guilty for coming to Stanford to get him when Dad disappeared. Dean had no doubt found some way to blame himself for everything as usual.

But Dean was only human. Sam knew that Dean had missed Sammy in their time apart even if Dean wouldn't say the words. Dean missed having someone there who occasionally thought of something besides the hunt, someone to have fun and share things with. Dean had probably also missed having someone to take care of, someone who more overtly **needed** Dean.

Their father's disappearance had hurt and frightened Dean. It had cracked Dean's calm exterior just enough that the elder brother had run to the only other person that Dean trusted and loved.

And Sammy wasn't the only other person that John had driven away with his temper. Their father had isolated Dean not only from other _normal _people but also from other hunters who loved and looked out for Dean, people like Bobby.

But from the very first moments when Sam had rejoined his brother on the hunt, he had been threatening to leave again. He had held it out in front of Dean's face, constantly telling Dean that he wasn't going to stay, that he didn't want to stay, that he didn't want Dean.

He had left, again and again and again. Dean had stayed with Sam when the younger brother had been infected with the demon virus, effectively sacrificing himself so that Sam wouldn't die alone. And Sam had turned right around and run away from Dean.

What would Dean do if Sam were to leave, were to reject Dean like that? Sam shuddered to think about that. Dean had been willing to die by demon virus for Sam, by Sam's own hand when Sam had been possessed. If he took away Dean's reason for living, would Dean quit fighting, get himself hurt on the hunt on purpose, killed?

But Dean had been trying to kill himself since their Dad had disappeared. Maybe not actively trying, but the elder hunter certainly hadn't been working hard to avoid it, Sam or no Sam. When Dean had been electrocuted, ending up on death's doorstep, the elder hunter hadn't seemed to care. Even if some of the act was for Sam's benefit, Dean who had so much passion, who fought and fought for his family, had just given up on himself.

But if Dean _could_ learn to live without Sam, wouldn't that be for the best? Sam had hurt Dean so many times, surely Dean deserved someone who would appreciate the elder hunter. Dean deserved a wife and kids, something more than a younger brother who depended on Dean too much, expected too much. Dean deserved something more than a lover who was infected with demon's blood and who would eventually get Dean killed or perhaps worse.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Ultimately, Sam did fall asleep, not waking again until the soft light of early morning was filtering through the motels' blinds again. Dean was again lying on his side away from Sam and it was Sam who had followed, draping himself half over Dean and half on his own stomach.

In this just-awakened world, Sam forgot about the horrors of the night before and there was only Dean warm and safe and not nearly close enough to Sam. Turning more onto his own side and sliding forward until his chest was flush with Dean's back, Sam pressed his face into the juncture of Dean's shoulder and neck, breathing in Dean's scent and pressing his lips to the warm flesh there.

Grumbling low in his throat, still Dean turned a little towards Sam, enough that Sam began to press soft kisses up Dean's neck to his jaw and then Sam was tilting Dean's face for a proper morning kiss.

The blissful moment was broken, however, when Dean jerked his face away with a hiss of pain.

Sam pulled back, confusion wrinkling his brows. Until he got a look at Dean in the morning light, until he saw the visible marks of Sam's own attack last night.

Dean's lower lip was red and swollen, a sight not terribly uncommon and one that normally would have been comical, for Dean's full lip to be even bigger, but not this time, not when it had been Sam that had caused it. There were dark purple bruises and red bites with clear teeth marks on Dean's neck and jaw and chest. Sam felt so ashamed he was in danger of being sick.

The demon was right, he couldn't subject Dean to that again, he couldn't take the chance that he wouldn't stop next time.

And then Dean's eyes opened, clear, bright, beautiful green eyes that Sam stared at like it would be the last time. Dean must have misinterpreted the look in Sam's own eyes as Dean's hand came up to the back of Sam's head, guiding his little brother down as Dean stretched up to resume the kiss.

"It's ok…" Dean murmured just before their lips touched. But as much as Sam wanted to take the comfort that Dean offered, wanted to just let Dean take care of it, Sam couldn't hurt his brother again.

Sam jerked his own head back hard. Dean may have been willing to kiss Sam despite the pain in his lip but Sam wasn't.

But Dean interpreted the move as a rejection and the green eyes widened before becoming dark, shadowed with the pain of rejection and insecurity and self-flagellation.

Even when he was trying to protect Dean, Sam just ended up hurting his brother. Still, Sam didn't want to see the look in Dean's eyes when he left this time.

Sam leaned down and placed soft kisses on Dean's forehead and cheekbones, placating the elder hunter enough that when Dean opened his eyes again, Dean's shields were back up, preventing Sam from knowing what his brother felt.

Pulling away then himself, Dean sat up, rubbing his hands over his head and face as he attempted to wake up more. It gave Sam a good view of the huge black bruise over Dean's spine between his shoulder blades. Sam remembered like a flash, putting his elbow there, leaning his weight on top in an effort to subdue his brother.

That image sent Sam running off to the bathroom.


	19. Coming Up Roses ch 11

Sam didn't throw up, but the privacy of the bathroom and the heat of the shower did a lot to calm his emotions.

When he finally emerged, Dean was seated at the room's small table, the laptop open in front of him. The elder hunter had put on his jeans and t-shirt, but the clothes couldn't cover the marks on his face and neck.

But Dean didn't ask for an explanation of Sam's behavior in the rational light of dawn any more than he had the previous night. Dean never had let Sam take the blame for anything.

Instead Dean spared Sam but a glance and turned back to the computer.

"What've you got?"

"Well, those yahoos at the bar last night, they said that there was one other suicide. A male teenager who had lived in that house, but they had moved one town over, something about being closer to the dad's job. Anyway, the kid killed himself pretty soon after the move."

Sam nodded. Though it was most common for a ghost to haunt the place of death, it wasn't an incontrovertible law. See ghosts coming out of portraits, moving through dozens of mirrors, being driven to see her husband and his new wife…the teen probably had identified the house here in town as home despite the move.

"So salt and burn the corpse then?"

Dean nodded. Sam sat at the table just as Dean was getting up and moving to the bathroom.

"Kid's buried in the other town, about an hour's drive away. Go get some coffee so we can go ahead over there."

"And donuts!" Dean threw over his shoulder, already shrugging out of his t-shirt just before he slammed the door shut.

There was a coffee shop literally in the parking lot of the hotel so Sam was back a moment before Dean was exiting the shower. He watched Dean get dressed out of the corner of his eye as he sat at the table and pretended to be looking up who knew what on the computer.

How Cassie or anyone could leave Dean voluntarily after sampling that skin was a mystery to Sam. He knew he would never forget it, not the taste or the feel or the smell of it, not the way Dean' s hands had felt on his own skin, not the way Dean's hands had made Sam _feel_, like he was the most precious, beautiful, treasured thing on the planet.

He was going to miss Dean, that was for sure, and, so now, Sam watched Dean like a starving man would eye a ribeye. He wanted to take in every detail. His only regret was that Sam couldn't touch Dean one last time, couldn't kiss those perfect lips or watch Dean's face as he orgasmed. But Sam hadn't been lying to Sarah when he said he couldn't go through the pain of a lover's death again. Not when he could have prevented it. And this time it would be worse, worse because Dean was more than lover, more than brother, more than father. Dean was everything and the love Sam felt for Dean as lover was everything.

They would finish the hunt, and Sam was determined that Dean wouldn't realize that anything was amiss. Course, that was easier said than done.

Dean had always been aware of Sam's moods and so the first words out of his mouth as he sat across from Sam at the table were, "You ok?"

Dean's first thought was of Sam, as if Dean himself wasn't sitting there with his shirt collar up to hide the bruises on his neck, the marks that his little brother had attacked him the previous night.

And though that made Sam feel loved in ways that no one else had ever made him feel, it also made Sam feel responsible for his brother. He had loved to take care of Jess, loved to show his love for her by giving comfort. But Dean wouldn't accept the same kinds of comfort. His brother certainly wouldn't allow Sam to coddle him. And Sam felt responsible for Dean in ways he never did with Jessica.

Sam worried over Dean, not only because Dean was in more or less constant danger but because Dean couldn't or wouldn't take care of himself. Sam ached to give his brother the comfort that Dean obviously needed, the comfort that everyone needed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. Sam couldn't explain his actions the previous night, no matter who much he wanted to justify himself and deny culpability.

"Let's get going. No point in hanging around here."

Sam really just didn't want to be stuck in the hotel room watching Dean lick chocolate from the donuts off his fingers. Not if he couldn't grab that hand and taste it with his own tongue. But Sam couldn't allow himself to start something, not with those marks on Dean's perfect skin mocking him and his deception, mocking his cowardice for leaving again.

Dean just nodded and stood, wiping his hand on his jeans and pulling on a jacket. Bags already packed, the elder hunter led the way to the car.

Finishing his coffee, Dean tossed the cup in the trash bag that Sam insisted they put in the backseat and then began fiddling with the radio. Sam leaned against the passenger door, watching as the elder man hit a station playing a song that had Dean drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

The drumming led to Dean nodding his head and then Dean was singing and rocking full-out to the music. Yeah, sometimes, it could definitely be annoying, when Dean was using the radio to avoid talking about something or listening to the same cassettes over and over again. But at the same time, it was familiar and always managed to take Sam's mind off of brooding for a little while.

Dean's voice was actually pleasant, anyway. Dean sang with more enthusiasm than skill, but Dean did everything with enthusiasm.

And it was so like Dean. The elder hunter found such joy in little things, an old song, greasy food, his favorite beer, a warm sunny day.

Sam smiled and slid closer on the bench seat, his arm stretched out along the back until his hand was right behind his brother's neck, close enough that every once in a while Sam's fingers would brush through the short hairs there.

Dean spared him a look and a grin, looking pleased enough that Sam thought, hoped that his little pieces of affection made Dean just as happy. Dean was used to having so little, that he was thankful for every little bit.

The drive was short by their standards, and soon they were pulling into another motel parking lot. They only threw their bags into the room, before heading out to a local diner for lunch.

The Blue Plate Diner didn't have the most original name or menu, but they did have a young blonde waitress who was quite enamored with Dean. Not that Sam could blame her.

From the moment that the two brothers walked in, her eyes had followed the elder hunter. Dean had entered first, his amused smirk lighting up his eyes as he registered her interest.

Sam watched with his own amusement as she introduced herself to Dean and then personally led them to a booth, walking just a little too close to his brother. Dean was practically laughing as he slid into the booth. Sam himself was spared barely a glance.

Dean played for the attention, not even looking at the menu and instead staring up at the girl and asking her for her recommendation. The girl only tore her adoring gaze away when Dean gestured for Sam to order.

Though Sam couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit jealous, he was still mostly involved in soaking up all the nuances that made Dean _Dean_. And flirting was definitely something that defined the elder hunter.

Dean must have noticed Sam's attention, but misinterpreted it.

"What, Sammy? You jealous?"

Sam chuckled a little and couldn't resist reaching out to trail his fingertips across the back of Dean's hands which were clasped together. Despite that they weren't going to be pretending to be members of any law enforcement agency in this town, it was a short, light touch in deference to the public setting. Still, it was enough to set Sam's heart beating faster.

"Well, you never flirted with me. We just, kind of, fell into this." Feeling his own self-consciousness, Sam's eyes kept being drawn to the table, away from Dean's eyes as he spoke.

Dean laughed louder then. "That's because you jumped me, in a field, no less."

Sam smiled himself, still looking mostly at his hand which he had left beside Dean's.

"What? You wanna go to a bar tonight, pretend that we don't know each other so that I can flirt with you?" Dean's voice was laughing but Sam had no doubt that Dean would do it at the smallest sign that that's what Sam wanted.

And then Dean reached his own hand out and covered Sam's, squeezing it once meaningfully.

The waitress came then and the boys yanked their hands off the table. Dean's eyes were smiling at Sam, sparing the girl only a passing glance as she placed their order down. Frustrated at Dean's lack of attention, she left quickly.

Dean dived into his food with the usual ardor, but Sam's thoughts were on the changes in his brother. Dean had actively reached out to him in public. It had only been a few weeks since Sam could remember Dean being nothing short of evasive, practically flinching when Sam touched him in the privacy of the Impala or their motel room. And now despite that Dean had looked embarrassed and nervous at their show of affection, he had reached out.

They finished their meal, and Dean went back to flirting with the young waitress as he paid their bill. Sam only just resisted the impulse to stand too close behind Dean, to tower protectively over the slightly shorter man. But Dean just laughed and took the napkin that the girl had written her phone number on, tucking it, as usual, in the back pocket of Sam's pants as soon as they were far enough away from the diner.

They spent a lazy day together, the kind of day that Sam used to hate, a day spent wasting time, waiting for nightfall. Sam had hated them because it was time not spent searching for their father, not spent finding Jessica's killer.

But now Sam had gained new appreciation for days like this. They restocked their supply of t-shirts which were constantly being ruined by blood and monster goo and being torn to shreds. Afterwards Sam found a bookstore remarkably easy, like he was a compass and bookstores were his true north.

But this time, Sam didn't spend hours in the bookstore while Dean amused himself wandering the downtown, flirting with anything female, and maybe finding a record store. This time, Sam could barely stand to let Dean out of his sight.

They ended up walking around a small park, the conversation inevitably turning toward the memories of their childhood that had been stirred up by this hunt.

It was amazing what Dean remembered of their childhood. It had been apparent as soon as they had crossed the city's limit that Dean had only remembered the good things: how small Tiffany's skirts were, how good the pie was that the motel owner had made them when John had come back into town, how proud Dean had been of Sam when Sam had finally managed to hit the bullseye with the bow, as proud as Dean had been when Sam had also come home with a report card full of A's at the end of the school year.

Sam couldn't decide whether Dean was in complete and utter denial, or whether those small moments of happiness really did make up for all that Dean had been denied. Dean remembered so much about Sam's childhood, things Sam didn't even remember. It was almost as if, in Dean's mind, Sam's happiness made up for his own unhappiness.

Eventually they went back to the motel, picking up dinner on the way. Afterwards, Dean collapsed on the bed on his stomach, turning on the television and eating MnM's, occasionally chucking them either at the tv or at Sam himself who was seated at the table with his laptop.

Sam spent the time trying to imagine what he would do after leaving. He had little desire to resume his academic studies, but that was what Dean would expect of him, that was something that Dean would understand.

It seemed forever before it was finally time to head to the cemetery.


	20. Coming Up Roses ch 12

_Author's NOte: So sorry for the delay!!_

They had begun digging up the grave together, but once it was an actual hole, only one of them would fit at a time. Despite that Sam often complained that Dean made him do the shit work, Dean, as usual, dug most of the grave himself. The elder hunter was the one to stay in and only got out when reaching the coffin was eminent, which they both knew from long experience.

Then Dean got out and let Sam finish it. That meant that Sam was the lucky one who got to open the coffin. For all that Dean had a cast-iron stomach, the elder brother had a surprisingly sensitive gag reflex.

Letting Sam open the coffin also meant that Sam was the one to pour in the salt while Dean stood guard. While this wasn't always the case, after two years it happened often enough that Sam knew it wasn't coincidental.

Sam didn't even notice the signs of the spirit being close. Instead what Sam noticed was Dean lifting the rock salt filled shotgun and turning away from the grave.

Dean was good, sometimes Sam thought that Dean was better even than their father since Dean had been raised to this life. But Dean had little sense of self preservation, and it was that knowledge that had Sam lifting his head up to see as Dean was thrown away by a very angry spirit materializing as a lanky teenage boy.

Dean landed awkwardly on a gravestone shaped as a log of all things. But Sam knew not to run to his injured brother, instead he climbed out of the hole, fumbling for the matches. The sound of the shotgun going off was only slightly comforting to Sam as he dropped in the match he had finally managed to light.

As soon as the flames had caught, Sam was running towards his brother as he always seemed to be doing, running after his heroic, self-sacrificing brother who had once again saved the day. Except when he was running away.

And all kinds of thoughts were running through Sam's head as he ran. Spirits never did take kindly to being salted and burned, what if Dean had been alone? What if Sam left and Dean were to be injured, unable to make it back to the car or to help? No one would know that the elder hunter was missing, that he might be hurt without Sam.

If Dean were to die, alone, not knowing how much Sam loved him…If Sam had to hear about his brother's death after the fact, getting a phone call one day and wondering whether he could have done something if he had been there…he couldn't, he just couldn't.

He couldn't possible live the rest of his life without Dean, knowing that every moment could be happier if Dean were there, wondering if Dean were safe and happy, if Dean had someone to comfort him if just a little…

"Fuck it," Dean grumbled, sitting up but keeping his left arm close to his body.

Sam sank to his knees in front of the other man, hands reaching out immediately to check for injuries even as Dean shrugged them off.

"I'm fine, really…"

But then Dean did something unexpected. Instead of simply shrugging off Sam's hands and concern as if they didn't matter, as if Dean had no conception that he mattered to Sam, Dean's right hand grabbed Sam's still reaching, grasping one. Dean brought Sam's gigantic paw to his lips, kissing Sam's palm lightly and squeezing the fingers before releasing it.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

Sam was stunned into silence as Dean levered himself up off of the hard ground. The gesture hadn't made Sam any more likely to believe Dean's assessment of his injuries; Dean had spent so many years saying that he was fine that Sam didn't think his brother would know if he weren't.

But the gesture did show that Dean was reaching out, letting Sam in. Sam couldn't slam the door on that, couldn't step on Dean's heart just as Dean had gathered the courage, the security to let the organ see the light of day.

It would be kinder to kill Dean, Sam was sure.

And no matter how little time they had left, no matter how badly this ended, staying with Dean would be worth it. Sam was suddenly very certain that he would rather have this time with Dean, this moment of happiness than none at all, even knowing the pain that was to come. In that moment Sam knew he would do anything, endure anything to have one more moment together. He would endure even the loss of Dean.

Putting the shovels back in the trunk and sliding into their respective seats, Sam was silent on the drive back, worrying. He would have to tell Dean about everything that had been going on, allow the elder hunter to make his own decision, even though Sam knew what that decision would be. Dean deserved to know.

By the time that they were entering their room, Dean knew that something was up. Shrugging out of his coat, Dean turned to face his brother, but Sam was moving before the words could leave the abused lips.

"We need to talk. There have been some things…weird things have been happening."

Pursing his lips and wrinkling his brows, Dean sat on the bed. "What kind of things?"

"Things with the yellow-eyed demon."

"The demon?! What kind of things? For how long?" Dean was back up, stomping over to where Sam sat at the table.

"You may as well calm down and have a seat, Dean. This is gonna take some explaining."

Reluctantly Dean sat down on the other bed.

"It was just a nightmare at first, of you dying…like Jessica died." Sam's voice was choking up just talking about it.

But Dean wasn't sympathetic right then, Dean's mind was busy going over Sam's sleeping habits of the past couple nights. Sam could see it in the clenching of Dean's jaw.

"That nightmare you had when we first got into town? You kept it from me since then?!"

"It seemed like just a nightmare, Dean." Sam's voice was defensive even though, he had kept it from Dean, more than just than just a nightmare.

"But then, last night…I can't explain it, Dean, but I would never have hurt you like that."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was jealous when you were flirting at the bar, but it was like I couldn't control it. I didn't even notice you resisting, not until I almost…"

Sam shook his head, looking down at his lap as his hands fluttered uselessly there. But Dean never had been able to resist a distraught Sam and so presently, Dean was in Sam's line of sight.

Leaning over Sam and placing his own hands on Sam's thighs, Dean dropped to a crouch so that he could look up into his brother face when he spoke again. "It's ok, Sam. It wasn't your fault."

Sam let out a choked laugh that had a distinct resemblance to a sob. It wouldn't have mattered whether Sam was possessed or just into sadomasochism, Dean wouldn't have blamed him.

"But I hurt you…"

"I'm ok, just a few bruises."

And there it was again, in the softness, the seriousness of Dean's voice. It was understanding, Dean was finally understanding that he was loved as more than just the caretaker, was worth more than just what he could do or give to Sam.

The knowledge clearly made Dean uncomfortable. The green eyes dropped to Sam's lap, but Sam could see them moving under Dean's lids as if the elder man was searching for something, something that he could focus on instead of the knowledge that he was loved. And the weight of Dean's hands on Sam's legs had lessened as if Dean was just managing not to take them away.

"But that's not all. Later that night, the demon was in my dream…he spoke to me."

That was the distraction that Dean was hoping for. Dean was immediately consumed with the new threat to his little brother.

Standing, as if wanting to be ready if the demon were to appear in that moment, Dean asked, "Well, what did he want?"

"He told me to get rid of you if I didn't want to see you hurt or…killed. He killed mom and Jess just to get to me and if I didn't send you away, he would do the same to you."

"But why warn you?"

And suddenly that was the question foremost in Sam's mind too. Why did the demon warn him? It could be that the demon was hoping to have Sam indebted to him by sparing the last person in the world that Sam loved, but it was also possible there was more to it than that.

Without Dean, Sam would be much more vulnerable. He wouldn't have someone to watch his back or to teach him more about the dangers of the supernatural world. Dean kept Sam human, kept Sam's belief in humanity alive, did most of the dirty work for Sam, and kept Sam focused on the actual mission: saving people.

Without Dean what would be the point of resisting?

"It doesn't matter, Dean. I'm not leaving you."

Sam couldn't read the expression on Dean's face, only that the elder hunter had gone perfectly still.

So Sam began babbling, words spilling out as he tried to speak all the thoughts that had run through his mind since the dream.

"I just…without you, Dean…I don't know what I would do without you. I mean, I don't want to see you hurt but…if we have ten years or only one day, whatever time I have I want to spend it with you. And if something did happen, at least we would have had that time."

Dean didn't speak. First Dean dropped his face to his chest, wrapping an arm around his middle and wiping at his face with his other hand and then turned away. Not knowing what he had said wrong, Sam jumped up and raced over, getting in front of his brother again.

"Dean, please. Talk to me." Sam placed his hand on the back of Dean's neck, trying to pull his brother to him, trying to get the elder man to look up at him, anything.

He wasn't prepared for Dean's hands to suddenly cradle his face, the feel of Dean's lips softly brushing his own, both being careful of the bruising there. And Sam certainly wasn't prepared for the taste of Dean's salty tears.

And then it was Dean who deepened the kiss as the elder man had never really done, asking for entrance into Sam's mouth by licking Sam's upper lip. Sam opened his mouth with a sigh, exalting in the certain sign that Dean wanted this, wanted Sam. And loving even more the feel of Dean's questing tongue licking, lapping at the inside of his mouth.

The teasing, tickling feeling had Sam wanting to chase that pointed tongue, to capture it, to crush Dean's body to his own. But as he followed Dean's mouth, he remembered about Dean's lip and instead, trailed his own tongue over the injury.

With the memory, Sam decided that he wanted this to be the opposite of the previous night. He wanted it to be slow and gentle, memorable for an entirely different reason. He wanted to show Dean with more than just words that the elder man was loved.

Sliding his hands down Dean's back and around to the front, Sam tugged on the hem of Dean's t-shirt to signal that he wanted it removed. They undressed themselves quickly, shucking over-shirts and t-shirts, unbuttoning pants and kicking off shoes.

As soon as they were naked, Sam was lowering Dean down on the nearest bed with a hand on Dean's chest to push him down and an arm around Dean's back to keep the descent slow. Sam crawled over his brother as Dean scooted back to the center of the bed.

Dean didn't try to get up nor get the upper hand, instead submitting to Sam immediately, pulling the younger man close again. It was almost as if Dean wanted Sam to be in control, wanted comfort though Dean still couldn't ask for it.

Sam's touch was light on Dean's skin and his kisses were once again soothing as he trailed them down Dean's torso, avoiding all the bruises and bite marks from before.

But despite Sam's efforts to be gentle this time, Dean was pulling Sam back up, half sitting up as he spoke.

"No, I want…" Dean dropped the eye contact and bit his already swollen lip in nervousness and mortification. Clearing his throat, Dean lifted his eyes and started again. "I want to have sex with you."

Dean's frank and earnest declaration was alluring though Sam could tell that Dean felt like a fool. But Dean wasn't the only one needed to make sure that they were both on the same page.

"Are you sure? You're ready?"  
"Yeah," Dean was already pulling Sam back down for a careful kiss.

And that time it was Sam who pulled away.

"Turn on your side." Sam's hands were already maneuvering the smaller man to turn away onto his right side. "I read it would be easier."

A nervous chuckle sounded though Sam couldn't see Dean's face. "God, Sam, you researched sex?"

Sam took the bait, recognizing it as an attempt to dissipate the tension. But he was so excited and nervous, he wanted this so much, he found it difficult to voice his own laugh.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Running his hand down Dean's side to Dean's thigh, Sam pushed his brother's top leg forward, into Dean's chest, opening Dean's body.

Shit, he forgot…"Let me get the lube."

Sam hated to move away from Dean's naked body, hated leaving Dean alone and spread open, even for a moment. Leaving one leg on the bed, he stretched to his duffel at the foot of the bed before returning to stretch out behind his brother.

Dean had kept his face tucked into the pillow, plainly feeling as vulnerable as he looked. But as soon as they were pressed together, Dean's head came back up and he moved back into the younger man's body.

This time, pressing a finger inside Dean felt peculiar. This time there was nothing to distract either of them from exactly what they were doing, nothing but the anticipation of what was to come for them to focus on. But Sam couldn't deny that it was startlingly erotic, particularly the soft noises that Dean made as he slid the finger in and out, choked gasps and long blown out breaths.

Sam made sure to brush his finger against the front wall, wanting to make this as much about foreplay as about preparation. Dean seemed surprised, jerking and choking out an almost pained, "Fuck!"

Sam waited for the elder man to relax into the feeling, giving into the sensations. He waited for Dean to press back onto his finger, his body gently rocking instead of jerking.

Despite the pleasure, two was more difficult and Dean's body tensed against the intrusion, making it worse. Sam attempted to distract the elder man, distract them both by kissing the back of Dean's neck.

"You've got to relax."

"I know," Dean snapped, seemingly frustrated by his own apprehension, by his body's reaction. "I've just never…thought about doing this before."

Just then Sam's finger brushed against Dean's prostate and Dean shook and moaned again. Sam struggled to thoroughly, but quickly prepare the other man. He scissored his fingers and used plenty of lube before rolling a condom over his own leaking erection.

Sam wanted to feel Dean without barriers. He trusted Dean with his heart and with his life, but right then wasn't the time to discuss the issue with his brother. Sam was used to condoms, he had never had sex without one, due mostly to Dean's insistence when the older brother had given Sam 'the talk'.

Slipping his right arm underneath Dean's neck so that he could reach across Dean's chest to grip Dean's opposite shoulder, Sam positioned himself at Dean's entrance. Maneuvering so that he had leverage, he began to push inside.

He only managed to push the head of his sex inside as Dean tensed at the intrusion, clamping down on Sam's member so that Sam almost lost it before they had really gotten started.

Sam's left hand automatically slid from Dean's hip to caress Dean's lower belly. He almost expected Dean to slap his hand away from the soothing gesture, but then he thought what would have been the point.

Dean had asked for this, Sam was already draped all over Dean, cuddling him, pressing _inside_ him. What would have been the point of trying to be macho then?

And Sam took advantage of that fact. He held Dean flush to him with his right arm under Dean's neck and across Dean's chest as he whispered, "C'mon baby. Breathe. Relax for me."

Dean had turned his face into the pillow presumably to hide his grimace of pain. Sam didn't insult his brother by asking if Dean wanted to stop because of the discomfort. His brother never did give up just because of pain, but Dean's top hand came up to grip Sam's right forearm as he took deep breaths, his right hand gripping the sheet beneath him.

Slowly Sam felt the tension dissipate enough that he pulled out and pushed in a little further. Gradually, Sam worked his length inside. It was so tight inside the other man, hotter and less slick despite the excess of lube that Sam had used. The walls seemed to cling to his cock as he pulled out to thrust in again. But more than the physical sensations, it was the knowledge that this was _Dean_, that Dean had let Sam inside that made the experience so mind-boggling.

And Dean began to respond, lifting his face up from the pillow and pressing his hips back as much as he could. That position had Sam's thrusts pressing against Dean's prostate without Sam having to work to find it. Dean let go of Sam's arm to pull his leg further into his chest.

"Unh," Dean's breath was forced out on a thrust. "Closer."

Closer, not harder or faster. Though Dean's voice still had the air of command to it, Sam began to think that this time, sex was more than just sex for his brother.

Sam pulled his lower body away, pulling his cock from the haven that it had found. "Turn on your back."

Wide, trusting green eyes locked onto his own as Dean complied. Sam pressed Dean's right leg up to the elder man's chest and then positioned himself again. And the whole time he felt those eyes watching him.

Dean was very flexible and Sam thought that in the future he would take advantage of that fact but right then he had other plans in mind as he let Dean's leg fall once he had thrust back in. Instinctually, Dean wrapped his legs around Sam's waist. It didn't allow Sam to get as deep as was possible, but it did allow him to feel Dean's chest, slick and smooth against his own as he picked up a long, slow rhythm.

Sam maneuvered his right arm underneath Dean's neck again, coaxing the other man forward so that their lips could meet in a wet by gentle kiss.

"God, Dean…so amazing." Sam pushed up so that he could see Dean's face as the elder hunter came apart beneath him, shaking and panting as Dean began to fist his own cock.

Dean came with his head thrown back and his mouth open on a deep groan, his left hand reaching out to Sam, gripping the younger man's side.

Sam let himself back down onto his forearms as he plunged in deeper, breathing into Dean's ear, "So beautiful, God…Dean!" Sam came with his love's name on his lips.

Resting a moment with his forehead resting on the pillow above Dean's shoulder, Sam pulled out carefully, gripping the base of the condom.

Sam was just turning away to throw the condom into the trash when he heard it. Dean chuckling, a laugh full of amusement and only a tiny bit discomfited.

"Wow," Dean said.


	21. Coming Up Roses ch 13

_Author's Note: So this is the last chapter! I added the Sam bottoming scene for the anonymous reviewer, but I like the way that I portrayed the boys two first times. SPOILER ALERT: In season four both boys had a sex scene. Sam's scene was rough, faster, and furious while Dean's scene was gentle, playful, and meaningful. So I feel totally justified in my portrayal and I hope that y'all enjoy. _

_Please tell me if y'all liked it or whether y'all feel cheated by the ending!!_

One month later…

The brothers stumbled through the motel door, both in good spirits. Another town, another motel, another bar, but now the thought didn't fill Sam with frustration and regret.

Sam shrugged off his jacket in a hurry. He knew that Dean would be horny after going to a bar, either because of flirting with beautiful women or because of the competitive nature of playing darts or pool. Then again when wasn't Dean in the mood?

In the month since they had finally consummated their relationship, Dean had been gradually letting Sam know exactly how big his libido was. So far, it had certainly lived up to Sam's expectations.

They both moved, meeting in the center of the room. Sam's hands came up to cup Dean's face as their lips met while Dean's arms went around Sam's waist pulling them together tightly. Sam couldn't resist suckling Dean's full bottom lip before his tongue was delving inside the wet cavern of his brother's mouth.

And Dean shifted, pressing their lower bodies closer while letting his head fall back, opening more to Sam's avid mouth. Sam took advantage of Dean's willingness as his hands wandered over the form in front of him, dipped down to squeeze one cheek of Dean's ass, eliciting a rumble of approval from deep in Dean's chest before returning to push at Dean's over-shirt.

Dean seemed reluctant to release his hold on Sam, however, disinclined to separate their bodies the amount that would be needed to remove their clothes. But ultimately, Dean did release his grip, allowing Sam to push off his over-shirt and then pull his t-shirt over his head.

Immediately afterward, Dean's hands were at Sam's belt, first pulling Sam back into a quick kiss, his green eyes sparkling, before pushing the younger man back enough to undo the belt and then unbutton and unzip the jeans. Sam pulled off his own pullover and t-shirt.

As soon as Sam had kicked off his shoes and his pants, Dean was pressing Sam backwards toward the bed, but Sam had other ideas. The table in this room was the perfect height, he had already left a toy on it in preparation.

Gently he resisted Dean's pressure with his own until Dean yielded, submitted as Sam pushed them towards the table. With hands to Dean's shoulders, Sam turned his brother around until they were back to front.

Pressing Dean's chin up until the back of Dean's head rested on his shoulder, Sam first sucked on the lobe of Dean's right ear before his lips trailed down to nip at the strong jaw and then the sensitive skin of Dean's neck right below his ear. Dean brought his hands back around Sam's hips, pulling the taller man's crotch tighter against him.

Sam couldn't help biting harder at Dean's neck, trying to elicit the soft moan that escaped from Dean's perfect lips. He loved having Dean like this, willing and wanton. Sam's hands fell to pinch and twist perky nipples causing Dean to jerk his hips forward and then grind them back.

With a gasp of his own, Sam thought that he really needed to get Dean's pants off **now. **In the month that they had been having actual 'sex', Dean had mostly played catcher. Not that Sam didn't enjoy being on the receiving end. Sam thought back to his own 'first time'.

It hadn't happened for two days after. Sam figured that it had taken that long for Dean to process what had happened, to make sure that the experience hadn't been horribly painful or emasculating and thus safe for his Sammy.

They had been in another town, had spent the day looking into another case. Nothing special had happened, and Sam had gone out to get the food. But as soon as Sam had entered the motel room with the food boxes in hand, he had known that something was up.

Dean had been just sitting on the bed, standing when Sam entered. Quickly Sam had put the boxes on the table and moved toward his brother who was uncharacteristically serious and still. Sam had moved forward, wanting to take Dean in his arms even though they were not at the 'let me hold you and soothe your fears' point and perhaps Dean never would be.

But Dean had surprised him as the elder man had allowed the embrace, his lips seeking Sam's own. For two days they had let Dean's lip heal, only allowing short kisses that were just the press of lips together.

But that kiss had held the passion and desperation that they had both held back from, awakening an ardor that had them both grasping at each other's clothes within seconds.

Dean's hand had reached down to firmly knead Sam's ass and the shorter man had pulled his face back just a little, the gaze of those green eyes intense, yet sleepy with desire. It had made Sam shiver to be the object of that much of Dean's fierce attention.

"Sam, I want…"

Sam hadn't needed his brother to finish that sentence, he had gotten the gist and jumped on the opportunity.

"Yes, oh god, yes, Dean…"

Sam's mood had almost darkened at the smugness that appeared in Dean's face then, but Dean was kissing him again and rubbing that lithe body against his in such a blatant display of expertise that Sam had to acknowledge that Dean was justified in his smugness. That time.

And he had to admit that he was desperate for it, pulling Dean in tighter against him. But Dean had had other ideas and Sam had found himself pushed down on the mattress. Dean had removed his t-shirt before following.

Sam had pulled off his own shirts so Dean began pulling off Sam's boots and then pulling his pants off before Dean rid himself of the last of his own clothes.

When Dean had crawled back onto the bed, over Sam, Sam had felt like a jack rabbit, staring down a coyote. Dean was predatory in his movements, liquid and lazy, his muscles rolling under his skin like a lion's.

He had nipped at Sam's lips, refusing Sam the luxury of his mouth for a moment. Then Dean's tongue had been diving inside, all traces of teasing gone, it had stroked over every inch of Sam's mouth, giving Sam all that he could want, but it had been gone all too soon.

Sam had chased after it, pushing up to his elbows, wanting to roll them over, wanting to be back on top, to be in control, where he could touch and taste all of Dean's skin. But this time, Dean was pushing him back down and Sam had no other choice but to subside.

Dean tongued down Sam's body, searching out places that even Sam hadn't known were sensitive, the hollow of his collarbone, the curve of his bicep, inside his hip bone. Soon Sam's hands were more pulling than petting Dean's hair and he had begged as he had writhed under Dean's focused attention, "Let me turn over, Dean, I need you inside me, let me turn over, let me…"

Nipping his thigh sharply, Dean had then pulled on Sam's hips to turn the larger man over. As soon as Sam was on his stomach though, he pushed his hips up and back, opening his thighs in invitation.

Dean had apparently planned this, so he pulled the lube and a condom out from under a pillow. They had discussed the use of condoms. Dean had been adamant that they continue using them for the first six months, long enough for any STD's to show up on tests and long enough, hopefully, for the two of them to truly decide if they were committed.

Sam had opened to the first finger immediately, easier than Dean ever had. Sam wanted it so much that it didn't matter that he had never experienced that before. It was only a moment before Dean was pressing two fingers inside and rubbing over Sam's prostate.

It had been like his brain had short-circuited and all Sam had been able to feel was intense pleasure burning through his veins. He had no idea what babble left his mouth, but Dean had murmured soothing nonsense as he had stroked Sam's lower back. And then Dean had pressed inside.

And that had been even better. Sam, impatient as ever, had pushed up to his knees, trying to take in all of Dean's cock immediately. He felt full and stretched and exquisite pressure.

"Shh, Sammy, take it easy." Dean's voice was meant to be calming and his thrusts were slow and long, his hips rolling to bring his partner as much pleasure as possible. But that hadn't been what Sam wanted. Sam wanted Dean's single-minded intensity, the ferocity that Dean brought to the hunt, the possessiveness that Sam could see in Dean's eyes sometimes. He wanted Dean to pound into him.

And he had told Dean so, crying out for 'more' and 'harder' and 'deeper' until Dean had let loose with a feral cry, the warmth of his chest leaving Sam's back as Dean kneeled up to take Sam's hips in a bruising grip. The head of Dean's cock had battered Sam's prostate before sliding in deep.

It had only taken a single pull on his own member before Sam was coming all over his fingers and the sheets, Dean grinding his pubis against Sam's ass to prolong his younger brother's pleasure.

But Sam wasn't often in the mood for that kind of sex, amazing though it had been. Most of the time, Sam wanted the feel of Dean underneath him, around him. He wanted to prove his love all over Dean's skin, wanted to hear it in Dean's cries.

And Dean needed him to do it, needed to be shown that Sam wanted and loved him.

His hand fell on the button of his brother's jeans, sliding them and Dean's boxers down before pushing Dean face down on the table with a hand on the back of Dean's neck.

Dean stayed bent over the table as Sam kneeled down beside him. Sam removed first one boot then the other so that he could slide Dean's jeans off while trying not to look too long at the other man. He tried not to look at how golden Dean's skin was, how he could see Dean breathing in the muscles of Dean's back, how Dean's cock hung free away from the edge of the table. And Sam definitely tried not to look at how Dean was bent over the table, ready and waiting, open and vulnerable, trusting, trusting in Sam. He didn't look because he didn't want it to be over too soon.

But as he moved to get up again, he couldn't help noticing Dean's gorgeous ass inches from his face. They had never done this but Sam couldn't resist. Shifting so that he was behind Dean directly, Sam's hands parted the firm globes before him. Leaning in, he knew that Dean could feel his breath right before he flicked the end of his tongue over the wrinkled bud.

Dean tensed and pulled forward, but stopped at the resistance in Sam's hands, preventing him from getting away. Sam leaned in again, his tongue wetter and firmer this time. He circled the opening with his tongue, over and over until Dean was still tense but pressing back instead of forward.

Moving his hands in to pull Dean further apart, Sam pointed his tongue and pressed against the entrance. At first Dean resisted before giving in with a groan, his knees shaking before he locked them. Sam pressed his tongue in as far as he could before slowly withdrawing only to press it back in before it was fully out.

Dean moaned softly, pushing up to lean on his forearms though his head still hung down between his shoulders. Standing, Sam reached on the table for the lube, slicking two fingers but pressing in only one to start.

One was easy enough but two was always difficult. Dean always resisted at first, as if by instinct, as if after all of these years it was difficult every time to let someone in. But then Sam's fingers were inside and stroking.

Sam loved to finger Dean almost as much as he liked to have his cock inside his brother. He loved the proprietary feel of it, loved to be able to concentrate on feeling the walls that gripped him, love to watch as Dean shuddered and shook, panting and keening as Sam continuously rubbed over the gland.

"S-sa-amm, **now**."

\And that was an order that Sam didn't want to ignore. Removing his fingers caused Dean to practically collapse onto the table as Sam unrolled the condom onto his own member.

Every time was the same, the same scorching heat, the same ridiculous tightness. Sam tried to be thankful for every time that he got to experience it.

Dean leaned back into him, into the deep, forceful thrusts that Sam knew that Dean preferred. Sam moved his hands from Dean's hips to the tabletop on either side of Dean and leaning down to cover Dean's back with his chest, wanting as much contact as possible.

Dean lifted his head then, arching back into the thrusts so that they hit his prostate more directly and giving Sam access to the long line of his throat. Sam immediately turned his face into the curve, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses there.

"God, Dean, so tight, so amazing, unh want you, want you unh like this all the unh time…"

Sam could never resist talking, telling Dean with words how much Sam wanted his brother, how amazing being with Dean like this felt. The elder hunter, as always, preferred to vocalize his feelings without words. Sam had become quite fluent in his brother's language of choked breaths and breathy sighs, groans and grunts, moans and keening cries.

Lifting a hand from the table, Sam raised it to Dean's chest, pinching the tight and sensitive bud to elicit one of those keening cries that said that Dean's pleasure was close to pain.

"Like that, baby? Unh, God knows, I love that sound." He pinched it a few more times, Sam's breath hot against Dean's neck, before dropping his hand back to the table.

Dean's arms were shaking with the effort of holding the position and Sam thrust in faster and harder, already feeling the tightening of his own orgasm.

He gripped Dean's hips, leaning back as his thrusts became erratic, Dean's name a whisper of breath before Sam was leaning his forehead against his brother's neck again.

Again, Dean collapsed chest down on the table as Sam withdrew, throwing the condom away in the wastebasket that he had also previously placed under the table. He also picked up the toy he had left on the table, not knowing whether Dean had seen it or not.

It was a butt plug, one that through previous experience Sam knew hit Dean's prostate just right once inserted. Sam still thought it odd that of the two of them, he had turned out to be the kinky one. Well, that wasn't exactly true, but Sam had been the one to buy all of their toys. He just wanted to make Dean happy.

Sex was the space in which Dean would let his guard down, could accept comfort and care. Dean had already used sex for comfort before, already accepted sex as an outlet. The elder hunter still couldn't let Sam help in other ways, wouldn't let Sam shoulder some of the responsibility of their mission, wouldn't let Sam comfort his grief or physical injuries. But Dean could let Sam give him physical pleasure.

Sam kneeled down to insert the plug, but at the sight of the slick, reddened, open and quivering orifice, he couldn't help leaning forward to lick across it. He couldn't help plunging his tongue inside, further this time as Dean moaned plaintively and moved restlessly, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the tabletop.

Taking pity on Dean this time, Sam inserted the toy, knowing that Dean like to have his prostate stimulated, like to be full when he had his own climax. And Dean liked Sam's mouth.

He gripped Dean's hips, pulling on the left side to tell Dean he wanted the other man to turn over. With shaking limbs, Dean stood and turned, keeping at least one hand gripping the table's edge the whole time.

As Sam looked up his brother's body, even more beautiful now that it had a sheen of sweat on it, he saw Dean clench his thigh muscles. Sam knew that Dean was clenching around the plug, exploring the feel of it there.

Sam stopped teasing. He gripped the base of Dean's erection and immediately closed his mouth over as much of it as would fit, sucking hard.

Sam watched as Dean tipped his head back, his hips rocking forward into his mouth and back to clench on the plug, his right hand fluttering momentarily in its grip. Sam knew that Dean wanted to bury that hand in Sam's hair but that his brother was too unsteady on his feet to let go of the table.

It was only a moment before Dean was making those needy, harsh noises that signaled the elder man's orgasm and then Sam was swallowing the bitter, thick fluid. It was another difference between them. Dean didn't like to swallow, his weird gag reflex coming out again.

Sam immediately reached up as Dean practically collapsed down on top of the larger man. He cradled Dean's kneeling form to his chest, Dean limp in a way that he only was after sex. Sam smoothed his hand down Dean's sweaty back down to his ass which caused Dean to shiver.

He removed the plug, the plastic coming out with a wet squelch that Sam found disturbingly sexy. Reaching up, he put the toy back on the table to be washed later. Then he wrapped his arms back around his brother in a tight hug.

Sam loved after sex as much as the sex itself and so he kissed Dean's sweaty temple. A month had gone by since Sam had seen the YED. Nothing untoward had happened to Dean, nothing more than the usual hunts anyway. Sam still worried that the demon was lulling them into a false sense of security but he had to wonder if he hadn't been right. What if the demon had wanted Dean away so that Sam would be more vulnerable?

It didn't matter because what had happened in the month was Dean becoming much more secure in their relationship. The older man just seemed happier, more content, more relaxed. Sam understood now why Dean had wanted to wait to have sex. The older man was waiting for some sort of sign that Sam was staying this time. Dean had been afraid to give Sam any more of himself without some guarantee that he wasn't going to have his heart ripped out of his chest if Sam left again.

And though Sam knew that he hadn't yet peeled back all the layers that made up his big brother, every little bit just made him love Dean that much more. And maybe someday soon, Sam would feel secure enough to tell Dean those three little words.


End file.
